The Necromancer's Apprentice
by wryter501
Summary: Nearly ten years after Morgause's plans to force magic upon a modern society go tragically awry, Arthur discovers more than one secret concerning his estranged sister Morgana. His search for understanding brings him to Lone Oak Academy, where Merlin as the school's head of security is still searching himself, for atonement. Modern A/U, yes to magic, no to slash. Canon pairings.
1. Son and Brother

**The Necromancer's Apprentice**

 **Chapter 1: Son and Brother**

Arthur hunched over his knees in the uncomfortably-contoured plastic chair. Hands clasped into one fist pressed against his lips, mentally blocking the noises filtering in from the hallway, and the less welcome ones from the equipment in the dimly-lit room. Eyes fixed on the man in the hospital bed as if he could hold spirit to body by the intensity of his gaze.

"Father," he said, as distinctly as he could around his white knuckles.

Heavy eyelids twitched, rose sluggishly. Irises gray as the motionless flesh of his face contracted, focused.

Heart attack. Third one this year, and it wasn't yet summer. Arthur considered it the failure of the medication his father had taken for the past decade and a half, though the doctors tried to assure him, the meds had _given_ Uther Pendragon that time.

Time was up.

Arthur swallowed, the motion hurting, aching, down his throat. Controlling his voice as his father would prefer, he managed to say his piece evenly – though Uther wouldn't want to hear it again, he needed to hear it and Arthur needed to say it.

"She should be here."

For a moment, when those heavy lids closed the sheen of life from his father's eyes, Arthur thought the old man had retreated from consciousness again, and maybe without registering his son's plea. But Uther blinked aware, rolling his eyes as well as his head slightly on the pillow cushioning him from the raised head of the bed that lifted his face above the bedrail in Arthur's vision.

"No… Arthur," he rasped dryly. "Leave your sister be. She lives… her own life. Don't look for her. Promise… me."

"Father, she should know," Arthur tried one more time, squeezing his fingers so that pain would distract him from the clawing agony of helplessness in the face of impending loss. "Please tell me. Where she is. If you have – a phone number, an email address…"

Ten years since he'd seen Morgana. And he hadn't really said goodbye… He'd gone to school alone that day; she hadn't been feeling well, and by the time he got home after soccer practice, she was gone. Off to some private boarding school where she never answered her phone and sometimes went weeks without responding to his email messages. And then, a week before he expected to be going _somewhere_ for her graduation, his father sat him down on the couch of the DC penthouse and explained how they were never going to see Morgana again. Her choice, to cut ties completely and irrevocably. Uther's eyes had been red that day, Arthur noticed, and that had been the last day their father had said Morgana's name, or discussed her voluntarily.

"We are dead to her," Uther wheezed. "And she to us. She's happy… wherever she is… leave her alone."

Arthur bit the inside of his cheek to keep his silence. He didn't agree, but he was deeply afraid, pushing the issue would provoke that final, fatal attack the doctors warned about, even as they expected it any day now.

His father was dying. And probably preferred to think the best of Morgana, rather than risk finding out her life these days was anything less than contented bliss.

If it was, Arthur would let her keep it awhile longer. But… she should know. She should be here…

…..*….. …..*….. …..*….. …..*….. …..*…..

Nothing was as it should be. Mid-May, the sunshine was bright but not hot, the breeze gentle, so Arthur's black suit was not uncomfortable.

It should be cold enough to require him to huddle into an overcoat, or pouring down rain so the unrelenting spatter on umbrellas would drown out the words droned at the graveside service. Instead it was distant birdsong and noiselessly flitting butterflies and if the spirit of his father lingered, it was with impatience. Possibly the spirit of his mother – Ygraine Dubois Pendragon, the next headstone over – would keep a hold of his father there on the green lawn, a few more moments before they moved on together, for the sake of their son.

And _she_ should be here.

Morgana, in spite of her wild ways and habitual defiance, had loved their father as much as he had. Arthur stared at his own distorted reflection in polished ebony, below the red-and-white-flowered wreath draped over the closed casket lid, and never felt more alone.

His last girlfriend – _it's not you, it's me_ – had left him when the new year had been still winter, when his priorities had shifted away from paying her lavish attention, to his father and his father's business. And now, the restless shuffle of aging businessmen there to pay respects was unbearable to him, as the sole relative present.

He shifted his own weight back and to the right, turning his head toward Leon, his senior assistant, who was also a close enough friend to share beer and pizza with while watching ESPN.

"She should be here," he murmured, past the ache in his throat.

His tears had been shed days ago, in the hospital when the machines had been turned off and the sheet drawn over Uther's face. At home in the dark penthouse at the top of the city, the first night – self-pity and emotional exhaustion and regret for what hadn't been, and now never could be. There didn't seem to be any more tears left in him to overflow from his eyes, but there was a persistent ache in his chest that occasionally moved up to his throat to torment him with a dull misery.

Leon hesitated before responding, enough to catch Arthur's attention away from the end of the ceremony. As attendees of his father's funeral began to lay roses on the casket and depart, he turned to face Leon fully.

"There's a reason why she isn't," Leon admitted carefully.

Arthur inhaled sharply. "The investigator you hired found something? Where is she?"

"The investigator _you_ hired," Leon reminded him. Arthur's money, technically; he waved the detail aside.

"Well?"

Leon still hesitated. "How about I tell you in the car, Arthur?"

He looked down at the thornless stem in his hand, edged leaves and velvet red petals. That meant bad news. Not _no news_ , and not _good news, she's on her way_. He turned to lay the rose at the top of the scatter, his the last one. Uther hadn't wanted Arthur to seek out his estranged sister, but Uther wasn't there anymore.

Arthur rarely drove anywhere alone. Parking in DC was as pleasant as any major city in the world, and as the owner and general manager of the Washington Marriott Georgetown, he could afford to be dropped off at the front door of his destination and pay a driver to find parking. If not Leon, then one of the extra security officers in his employ – some of whom were his good friends, like Leon. But he'd preferred for Percival and Gwaine to work today, rather than stand at Uther's gravesite and pretend they felt any grief for the hotel-chain mogul. Sympathy for Arthur in spades, of course, but he didn't want sympathy. Leon at least understood that.

"So," Arthur said, settling into the front passenger seat of the Chrysler.

Leon toyed with the keys and didn't insert them to start the engine, as fresh-grass scent drifted through the open windows on the lilting breeze. "Last week when you paid for top priority and exclusive time commitment, the investigator began with the private school in Virginia, the one you couldn't remember the name of? Bank records show your father made regular payments of a tuition size to Lone Oak Academy near Culpeper, four years in a row, ten years ago."

"Okay," Arthur said leadingly. "Where did Morgana go after graduation?"

"Arthur… she didn't graduate."

He frowned. It was very unlike Morgana to drop out; in elementary and middle school her grades had rivaled his best when she _didn't_ study.

"She… passed away, the fall of her senior year."

For a moment he met Leon's gray eyes, uncomprehending, because… that was nearly ten years ago. That couldn't be right, she'd – gone to college on the West Coast, or… joined the Marines, or… something. Founded an environmentalist-survivalist group in Nevada or Montana, or… moved to Australia to study aboriginal history or… went to tag grizzlies in Alaska. Eloped to Italy or Greece. Amsterdam. Dublin.

His mouth said, "You mean she's…"

"She's gone, Arthur. She died ten years ago."

He heard his voice, though he was quite sure he was incapable of speech, or even formulating a thought. "When?"

"The end of October." Leon named the year again. Arthur's sophomore year in college. Where had he been for Halloween? Getting drunk at some stupid costume party, probably. He didn't even remember.

"How?" His throat was dry; he felt numb and… small, somehow.

"She was found several hours after calculated time of death. They did an autopsy, and combined with evidence found at the scene, it was concluded that she'd taken a fatal dose of benzodiazepines." Arthur stared at his friend, and Leon clarified, "Sleeping pills."

"Why would she –" Still his mouth was disconnected from his brain.

"It says in the police report that prescription medication is kept secured by the school nurse, but that an unopened bottle belonging to another student was discovered missing. Presumably she stole it, and..."

Arthur dropped his head into his hands and rubbed his skull absently, mussing his hair. Why. Why would she steal meds, why would she take sleeping pills… Part of his mind said, she wouldn't admit weakness, a Pendragon wouldn't ask for help – another part of his mind argued, Morgana was anything but weak, and never needed anyone…

"Did… my father…"

"He knew, Arthur. Paid for a plot and a headstone… shady little place in the countryside about half an hour from here. I'll give you the file. There's a photograph in it, or if you want to drive out there, I can go with you…"

Arthur turned his head to stare out the window at the rows of graves marking the gentle rise and fall of the land. Morgana was dead. It was unbelievable. All that energy, all that sass and fire… how could she be gone? And for _so long_ … Uther hadn't told him, had lied to him – had buried his sister somewhere else, to keep him from finding out that she hadn't simply decided to turn her back on them.

"But why?" he whispered. And he was wrong when he thought, there were no more tears.

Leon understood the question had shifted from Morgana's hypothetical motivation, to Uther's. He ventured, "Because…"

Arthur blinked and whipped his head around. The question had been rhetorical, he hadn't expected –

"The school," Leon added. "The academy. For gifted youth. Gifted, in this case meaning… magic."

…..*….. …..*….. …..*….. …..*….. …..*…..

It was two days before Arthur was able to make the call, though the delay wasn't entirely intentional. He wanted to be sure he could be calm and controlled. To be sure it wasn't a grand nightmare.

Two mornings he woke in the second penthouse suite at the top of the Marriott Hotel – the first belonging to his father and _empty_ now – and told Leon, _yes please fill in for me today._ His assistant was fully capable of running the hotel to Arthur's wishes; in the past months they'd discussed making it permanent, in the event of Uther's death, so Arthur could take over his father's financial empire, though he preferred a small and select domain – knowing his employees, handling any problems with a personal touch. That hadn't been finalized yet, though… just one more thing requiring his attention as the sole heir of the Pendragon hotel dynasty.

He struggled the first day more than the second, part of him fighting against accepting the truth and story of his sister's death, though the facts provided to him by the investigator through Leon were incontrovertible. In the end, when activity was exhausted, he succumbed to the headlong careen down memory lane – from the day of his father's funeral back to when the investigator's paperwork claimed, his sister's funeral had taken place.

Without ceremony, evidently. Arthur could see his father standing lone as they lowered the casket, knee-length black trench-coat, slacks and shined shoes.

Checking his watch.

Arthur couldn't remember if his father had even mentioned going out of town, that week.

Other memories, though. When Uther had refused to indulge Arthur's speculations and suggestions about his sister. Now he played those conversations back, knowing Uther had known, Morgana was dead. How? How could his father do that to him, to them?

Occasionally over the years, Arthur had imagined what she was doing, rare moments of introspection when a new friend – girlfriend – had asked about his family. Or on holidays, when Uther was busy and Arthur had no other family to spend time off with.

Don't know. Maybe she's some action heroine's stunt double out in Hollywood. Maybe she's a skydiving instructor. Maybe she's snorkeling with some Arab prince in the Mediterranean. Landing fighter jets on an aircraft carrier in the Pacific, or taking her last physical before her shuttle blasts off from Houston. Driving a sled dog team in the Iditarod.

Do they still run that, though.

Arthur always expected Morgana would be the one with the wildly exciting stories to tell, of daring risky endeavors, while he spent most of his days behind a desk, despairing of meeting a woman who didn't see dollar signs when she looked at him, dreaming of an impossible family of his own. Morgana would have had… three sets of sweet hellion twins by now. Or something. And still slim as a panther, likely as not.

Worse were the moments he remembered resenting her absence, hating her apparent apathy, cursing the burden of expectation that she'd shrugged out of to leave him to bear alone. College graduation. The purchase of this hotel. Uther's first heart attack – and each subsequent one.

The second day, struggle gave way to lethargy. Each memory a disappointment and a guilty embarrassment, pressed further down on his conscience, opened a widening and fathomless hole at the bottom of his soul. She was dead. She was gone. And he hadn't even known. His father hadn't wanted him to know, had taken from him the truth and a chance to say goodbye and grieve properly – and that screwed with his ability to grieve for his father, too.

4:30 the second afternoon, he stirred himself in his armchair, in front of the glass wall of the penthouse that looked toward Roosevelt Island in the Potomac River, and across to the hills of Arlington. Bypassing the tumbler of the hard stuff on the glass side-table, making water-rings on the manila file Leon had given him, he picked up his phone.

Contemplated the number he'd entered. Wondered when the last day of classes was for the school, and whether anyone of consequence would be available if the term was over. Probably not after 5:00, in any case.

He thumbed the green call button, and swallowed against a nervous nausea to hear the tones that indicated ringing on the other end. Reached for his board-room persona to help him through this interview, feeling his muscles tense in the chair, and his chin lift - though the man he was calling would not be able to see him.

It rang so long, he expected voicemail.

Then the gravelly voice of a middle-aged man said, "Hello, this is Dr. Gaius of Lone Oak Academy. What can I do for you?"

Dr. Gaius. Headmaster, he knew from the gathered intel and the perused website. A heavyset gentleman with long white hair loose on his shoulders, who peered at the world over half-specs in his photo on the homepage, before an indistinct background of red-brick buildings and green lawns and the school logo of a sprawling tree in flat profile.

"Dr. Gaius," he said. "Good afternoon. My name is Arthur Pendragon. I'm the brother of a former student of yours. Morgana Pendragon – though you had her recorded as Morgana Dubois." Their mother's maiden name.

Silence. Then a long exhalation, and a gentle tone. "Morgana's brother. I see. How may I be of service?"

"You remember her, then?" He kept his tone even, though he wanted to shout. Bellow. Scream.

"Impossible to forget such a tragedy." And if the compassion was feigned, it was very well done.

"My father – our father – is recently deceased." Arthur rolled right over the academy headmaster's condolences. "And I discovered that my sister, whom I had believed separated from us by choice, has in fact been deceased herself for nearly a decade."

"Ah." Delicately suggested, "Your father didn't tell you..."

"No, he did not." That even tone was getting harder to maintain, and maybe partly because the older man sounded so much more _human_ than any of Arthur's high school teachers and principals; it was hard to maintain the hard chill he'd learned from his father. "Not about her death – not about her magic. A secret, it seems, she was content to keep from me also." Now even he could hear the tremble, and he cursed the weakness.

"Mr. Pendragon, I am so sorry for your compounded loss, and the shock you must feel in the situation, but perhaps… this is a conversation best conducted in person? I could drive up this weekend and –"

"No, that won't be necessary," Arthur said, making a blindly impulsive decision. "I'm going to be coming to Virginia myself quite soon. I'd like to see her school. Her room. Her grave. Where you found her – _you_ found her, is that right."

"Mr. Pendragon –"

That was still his father's name. "Arthur, please, we might as well be on first-name basis."

"Arthur, then. And to be quite correct, it was our school nurse who found your sister, though I remained with her... as long as I was allowed."

Scene photos taken by the official investigation team burned into his brain. His lovely young – lifeless – sister sprawled in the dead-leaf detritus of late fall forest. Arthur relented, minutely. But only til the older man spoke again.

"But I'm afraid it won't be possible for you to come here. School is in session for another week yet, and even after that, Lone Oak abides by rather strict regulations forbidding folk such as yourself, on school grounds. Current or prospective students and immediate family, only."

Arthur gripped his phone and breathed hard through his nose.

"I appreciate the turmoil you must be experiencing…" Gaius ventured, sounding far from offended and not the least bit impatient to hang up.

"I can't –" Arthur cleared his throat, closed his eyes, and tried again. "My sister was lively. Fiery – defiant… I have a very hard time believing she'd take an entire bottle of any sort of pills, by herself in the woods. I can't accept that. I don't understand."

Silence, that allowed for two more calming breaths, on his end.

"Arthur, you didn't know your sister had the ability to do magic –"

"No, I didn't."

"Forgive me then, but… how can you possibly understand the pressures and heartaches a young woman like your sister – like all our students – can face in our world?"

Arthur opened his eyes and swiped hastily at the tears that were released, the windows of his home a light blue blur of sky.

Officially, magic-users were an accepted minority of society. Unofficially, there were still people who harbored extreme or violent prejudice, and there were occasionally fatal clashes reported on the news, in addition to other non-fatal unpleasantness.

Unsurprising that Uther would cover and hide such a revelation in a child of his – and expect to keep doing so, even after Morgana's graduation from the Academy. And of course Morgana could have seen and guessed at least that much. As much stress as Arthur had been under, graduating high school and majoring in Business in college, exactly as Uther demanded, how much more and different pressure would she have felt, in her unique and lonely situation? Personally Arthur could believe, their father had loved her no differently after finding that out – but as a businessman in the public eye, he'd have avoided even the rumor of magic in his family like a plague. To the point of perpetrating the permanent lie of her voluntary disavowal of them to Arthur, both son and brother.

"No," he whispered. "No, I guess I can't."

Had he failed Morgana, then. Attributing the long pauses between sarcastic emails to her jealousy of him as eldest and father's favored, and spite – when he should have been an ear to listen to her true problems, and a shoulder to cry on?

"Mr. Pendragon – Arthur… forgive me one more liberty. I've just now looked you up – your degrees, your business acumen is quite impressive. But it sounds to me like you might be in need of a sabbatical, after this upheaval of your personal life. It sounds to me like you might be seeking closure in both relationships you've lost… and I hope I'm not entirely out of line in making you an offer."

"An offer?" Arthur said blankly. "You mean, to come onto your campus in spite of the rules?"

"In a way. You see, I've been speaking to our Board for quite some time about the integration of our school with the community of non-magic-users. The way I see it, we might be protecting our youngsters from the effects of popular bigotry, but we are also tacitly sanctioning the segregation and practicing a reverse form of discrimination, ourselves. Our curriculum covers core subjects, of course, in addition to our peculiar electives – so why should young people who are interested in magic not be allowed to study here also, just because they are unable to practice it? If the children of both worlds can earn their education peacefully as friends, side by side, would that not benefit them, and the community – the state – the nation, dare I presume."

Arthur's head ached a bit. "Yes, I suppose so," he said, feeling that his business seemed rather simple in comparison.

"The question, of course, carries over into the faculty. Parents of ordinary children might not feel comfortable enrolling them in a school where every teacher is a practitioner. Which brings us to the position we will have open this fall. You are ridiculously overqualified, of course – but as a faculty member, you would be welcomed anywhere on campus, and have ample opportunity to get to know and understand young people just like your sister. It may be that in helping them – even if it is just to pass Algebra Two – you will feel the peace of helping her."

"Dr. Gaius, right?" Arthur said, reverting to sarcasm to cover his reaction. "Not Dr. Freud?"

His equilibrium was tumbled by the offer. To teach high school classes? In an academy of magic? He hadn't been head-hunted in years, and never with such patently absurd results.

"A measure of understanding in the field of psychology has been my lifeline to sanity more than once, in my calling," the old man said wryly. "I do wish you would consider the opportunity. Might I send you more information on the position and the school itself – and my offer to drive into the city to meet you remains open as well."

Craziness. The whole week. His life upside-down already… the Marriott in Leon's capable hands, and no girlfriend to leave behind.

But this smoldering need to understand. To do something for Morgana, even too late, to show her… _I miss you. I love you. Still, and always_.

"Yes, thank you," he said into the phone. "Do send the information… and I'll think about it."

"I'll hope to hear good news," Gaius responded. "Sooner, rather than later… We might help you just as much as you help us."

Arthur grunted.

"I look forward to speaking to you again."

His cell phone registered the disconnect with a melodious little beep.

Magic.

A little shiver played over the nerves in Arthur's body, and it wasn't fear so much as… anticipation of possibilities.

He had a feeling that when he went to Virginia, he'd be staying.

…..*….. …..*….. …..*….. …..*….. …..*…..

Freya was aware of Merlin as soon as he touched the handle of the door of the faculty room, ten paces behind her as she sat curled in the corner of the big couch watching HGTV reruns with only the light above the stove in the kitchenette to her left, and the smell of cooling pasta and tomato-base sauce for company.

Every nerve came immediately, involuntarily alert, telling her of his scent, the pattern of his gait and his breathing as he crossed the carpet. Past the pool table that could serve for ping-pong and air hockey at the whim of a handful of teachers – and probably students, were they ever allowed in this room – who could perform that sort of magic. He was one of them. But he hadn't come looking for a game to pass the late summer evening.

He bent to lean his forearms on the back of the couch; she glanced to see that his eyes were on the big-screen, and was glad that he missed the little shiver she couldn't help.

Her pleasure and her pain.

"Hey," she said. Not anything more proprietary like, _Where've you been_ , or _I made dinner but it's cold_. She probably wouldn't say those things even if she had a right to. Which she didn't.

"Hey," he answered absently.

But she wasn't fooled. He had no interest in the pizza-chain commercial; there was something else on his mind.

"Hungry?" she teased. "Lasagna still warm on the stove and tossed salad in the fridge…"

"You cooked?"

"Nope, it's from a freezer box." A ridiculous amount to make for only herself, but eating in here was better than the cafeteria, nearly-deserted in the summer except for the remaining handful of student-boarders. But she didn't mind heating leftovers for a week – and usually shared with other staff members, though they were down to a skeleton crew for the off-season.

He didn't move, and for a moment she watched the way the television's blue flickers lit the angular planes of his profile. Then reached for the remote and held the volume down-arrow several seconds. His smile quirked – not as wide as it could go, but enough to tell her that his mood was thoughtful, rather than worried, and he turned his head to meet her eyes.

"I was talking to Gaius," he said, taking her unspoken invitation to confidence. Because if he wasn't interested in food, she knew he'd come in here to speak with her, in spite of initial reticence. "He's got a new teacher to replace Sefa."

"Oh?" she said, interested now herself. The goodbye-party for the Academy's arithmetic instructor had doubled as an engagement party, and Sefa had made the final move to the Gulf side of Florida with her fiancé last week. "All the math classes, then?"

"Both Algebras and Calculus, if you can take Geometry. And he'll be teaching the Government class instead of Gaius, too."

She considered. "Only two periods of Geometry, right?" He gave a single nod, watching her, and she shrugged. "Come with a pay raise?"

His eyes twinkled, even in the almost-dark, and he smelled proud, but… that wasn't all.

"What else?" she added.

He twitched around to scratch his hair behind his ear without lifting his arm from its supportive position on the couch-back, his gaze drifting past her. "The new teacher… isn't magic."

"What?" she said, her eyebrows lifting.

"Gaius said he had a sister who was, but she died. So he wants to learn more about us, and Gaius can kick-start his pet plan for eventual integration at the same time."

She couldn't help another shiver, and he probably couldn't help seeing and understanding. He shifted closer, reaching down to touch her hand in her lap, briefly. "It will be fine. So what if he's ordinary – Gwen's ordinary, and she's your best friend."

Freya smiled at his attempt to reassure her, not bothering to correct him. Gwen wasn't her _best_ friend.

"And with magic in his family – and agreeing to come teach here – he'll be fine, you'll see." His grin spread sly, as he retreated his hand. "It's me I'm worried about," he claimed, "I'll have to make sure the kids don't eat him alive – there are a few who might try, actually."

She rolled her eyes. "My shape-shifters are perfectly well-behaved, thank you very much."

"We'll have the summer to get used to the idea, anyway," he said, going a bit vague as he chased another train of thought. "I'll have to make some changes to the security magic…"

She hummed agreement and consideration. Only the self-important asses on staff would deny that Merlin had the hardest job of any of them, excepting Gaius himself and maybe Alice, at times.

"Are you not going home this summer at all, then?" she asked as he straightened.

"Um. Maybe for a week at the end of this month? My mom will be upset if I don't show at all, but…"

She gave him a grimace of commiseration, stifling that small and irrational – but persistent – wish that he'd ask her to come along, even as friends. He never did, even though she had nowhere else to call home, since the death of her whole family in the coastal storm up north when she was thirteen. She gathered his hometown – way up the Valley in West Virginia – could be pretty rough for someone with magic. Though she could definitely handle herself, he wouldn't want her to have to. And his mother would never move; Freya intuited it had do to with staying close to his father's grave.

"I'm off to bed," he said, referring to his apartment on the second floor of the teachers' wing; hers was on this floor, two down from the faculty lounge. "Are you staying up?"

"I think I'll finish this episode," she said, glancing back at the tv. It was an international special, and she doubted she'd ever see Tel Aviv in person. "Finish cleaning up after myself." He glanced toward the stove, hood light on, in the kitchenette, and she added, "You sure you don't want to eat?"

"You sound like my mother," he joked. "Always telling me how skinny I am, need to eat more."

"Well, it's true," she told him.

He gave her a look that was pure affection, and swayed close enough to spread the fingers of one hand gentle over her hair.

She inhaled, and for a moment nuzzled up into his touch, as she did in her Bas form; he'd always been much more uninhibited about physical contact when she was a giant winged cat.

And that was her pleasure, and that was her pain. Because she was his – and he didn't realize – and if he didn't say anything to make them more than siblings in magic, then she wouldn't either. Best friends was good enough. There would never be anyone else for her, she accepted that, and there had never been anyone else for him, even when he'd been a moody teenager a year ahead of her at this very school. It had to do with the darkness inside him, that he knew and she knew, but she didn't think he knew, she knew. Darkness she still hoped to love away; they were young yet.

And he pulled his hand away, turning to leave. "G'night."

"Sweet dreams," she managed lightly. And took a deep breath when the door closed behind him.

Pleasure and pain.

 **A/N: There's extensive backstory for this fic, already written, which will be interspersed throughout the current action, from differing pov's, hopefully self-explanatory as a slow reveal of past events for the reader.**

 **Also, I'm going to be moving on the 31** **st** **, but I don't have a place yet, apartment or house idk. My work is done from home, so that won't change, but rl will be in upheaval for awhile, so updates might be delayed and/or sporadic, just sayin'… This chapter isn't very long, but I didn't want to wait two more weeks or more to start posting the story…**


	2. Late Night Arrivals

**Chapter 2: Late Night Arrivals**

 _(ten years ago)_

Dear Dr. Gaius.

 _The old headmaster had a stack of letters beginning the same way. Countless families searching for a place their child might fit, might learn and flourish and self-discover and come to acceptable terms with their various strangenesses._

 _Some nights Gaius stared at the pages, handwritten or computer-printed, and wondered - as maybe all educators did at one point, or several – if all the work and worry was worth it. If those who learned and chose to hide their gifts and abilities in exchange for a quiet, normal life balanced those who used with discretion and the blessing of their communities, and those balanced the sharply public few who felt an overtly militant agenda was warranted, no matter the persecution their actions brought on their more peaceful brethren. Those who believed that negative publicity was better for their kin in the long run – somehow – than serene secrecy._

 _Sometimes he felt he could guess, which student would take which course, after graduation from their private academy. Sometimes he wondered if he should take a more active role in directing the young futures. Whether he was accountable for those that chose violence and pain and hate, in the end._

 _Gaius sighed, tipping his desk chair back so he could see past the lamp glare on the dark window. Curfew was in effect, the dorms mostly quiet, only a few lights still on in the teachers' wing._

 _Beyond the brick campus buildings, through the quiet country darkness, he could see to the top of the Hill. To the lamp-post, gas-lit and always burning, as a tribute to those who had gone before, young and old, tragic and noble. A tribute to the school's founders, well before Gaius's time, and a memorial for the days when it had served as a focus for the dome shield that protected and hid and sheltered those of the grammarye from a condemning world._

 _Now, though, the condemnation of those with magic in their blood was mostly deserved, punishment for some civil crime. They had all come a long way, to equal standing in the eyes of the law, at least…_

 _Tonight, there was an extra shadow on the Hill._

 _Gaius leaned abruptly forward in his chair, with a clank of aging hardware beneath, squinting in an attempt to see more clearly, who or what – the shadow was quite still, nonthreatening. He reached for the receiver off the phone block on the corner of his desk, intending to call campus security – and hesitated._

 _George Valiant was not a man burdened with an excess of imagination or compassion. As head of school security, his small innate ability was supplemented with the various enchanted bits and baubles he could activate, and order was kept with minimal complaint, but._

 _Changing his mind, Gaius stood from his desk chair and took the brown suit coat that matched his vest and trousers from its place over the back._

 _Outside, the air was still warm, only a week into the fall semester, and he left the jacket unbuttoned. Once or twice he wished for a flashlight as he left the paths and lawns for the wild rough, climbing the Hill, but he was well familiar with Lone Oak's grounds, and knew his way._

 _Before he reached the top, the shadow defined itself into a person. A young person, if Gaius was any judge – and he was, as headmaster of a private high school academy – but one who kept gazing up at the flickering gaslight of the lamp, until Gaius joined the circle of illumination._

 _Then turned._

 _Gender indeterminate under an adult-size military-uniform jacket, an olive-drab sausage-shaped ready-bag slung on the back with a single strap crossed over the chest. Strange elfin face both grimy and pale under the gaslight, unsmiling; the hair was shaggy and disheveled and ink-black, long for a boy but short for a girl._

 _"Good evening," Gaius said politely, as if it were perfectly normal for strange children to appear on the school grounds._

 _At this school, it wasn't unheard of._

 _"Who are you?" he added kindly._

 _"I'm Merlin."_

 _Boy, then, the voice husky like talking wasn't a habit, but not low. Exactly the age when a child might show up here, feeling lost and scared and alone – though not usually quite so literally – and looking for answers._

 _"I saw your beacon," the boy added, tipping his face to the lamplight again, closing his eyes briefly to blend black lashes with the shadows beneath them. "It's for people like me, isn't it?"_

 _"I beg your pardon," Gaius said. It was true that the lamppost, because of its usage and continuing symbolism, gave off a residual sensation of magic, but only a handful of people currently in residence at the school – of which Gaius was not one, in spite of his authority and position – could feel that, even at this proximity. "You saw?"_

 _"No, I mean I… sensed it." The boy named a town Gaius was unfamiliar with, then added a regional qualifier he was – and surprised at. Over a hundred and fifty miles, and it was impossible to travel as the crow flies, through the low mountains. "It's a beacon for people like me, isn't it? I can stay here, can't I?"_

 _Gaius stepped forward, intending to scrutinize the boy more closely – he'd gotten inside school grounds without tripping any of the alarms – and the boy shifted an instinctive step back. Gaius didn't try again._

 _"What of your family?" he said gently. "Your parents?"_

 _"My mother didn't want me to come," the boy admitted frankly. "Even after I did the math, and the geography, to show her this place was real and I wasn't making it up. Even after I found your website."_

 _Point in favor of the internet, Gaius thought; he'd been reserving judgment._

 _"She said, we didn't have the money for it," Merlin confided, practical and unashamed. "But I… don't belong anywhere, and everyone knows it… except maybe here." He glanced up at the light-post again. "If you say I can stay, I'll call my mom and tell her so – she'll want to know I'm okay, but – I think she'll be relieved that I'm not there anymore, after a little while. I make things difficult for her. I don't mean to, but I can't really help it."_

 _"Hm," Gaius said. "Only recently? With the onset of puberty?"_

 _The boy didn't shuffle or blush in embarrassment over physical change he wasn't yet used to. He just shook his head. "No, all my life. But – worse, lately. Hard to hide. It gets me in trouble."_

 _All his life. Gaius quirked a skeptical eyebrow, but the boy met his eyes, unruffled by his disbelief, which spoke to the truth of his statement, incredible though it seemed._

 _"I suppose you better come inside," Gaius decided. Even if just for the night. And a bath. And a meal or two. "I'll call your mother, because really it's her right to decide what you should do, while you're young yet. But the academy does offer scholarships…"_

 _The boy shifted the sausage-roll bag on his shoulder, turning to obey Gaius's gesture toward the campus dorms, and the faded black letters stenciled on the olive-drab-and-tan came into view._

 _Letters, and the last four of a social security number. Gaius's old brain was slow to read the surname printed vertically - but maybe it was more premonition and shock, than age._

 __ **EMRYS**

 _And that black hair. And that forthright manner. And that claim of a strong and unusual magic…_

 _"You're Balinor Emrys' boy?" he blurted._

 _Merlin swung around, showing emotion for the first time. "You knew my father?"_

 _Loaded question._

 _"It's an unusual name. He was a graduate of the academy, though."_

 _One who'd crossed the line between blending in and hiding his gift, to forcing recognition of it on the world. He'd joined the army after graduation, but something had happened during his term of service, something that had him hunted by both military and civil authorities – Gaius looked sharply at the boy's thin hopeful face – about fifteen years ago. He'd heard that his onetime student had evaded discovery and capture a number of years – long enough to father this boy - before an affiliation with a grammarye gang had been exploited and he'd been killed with several others in a government raid._

 _"What did your mother tell you about him?" he hedged, again starting down the dark hill, their shadows blending before them and disappearing before reaching the campus buildings._

 _"He was a soldier. KIA. IED." The boy's mouth quirked without humor, at the acronyms that defined his father's death. "I was little."_

 _Gaius looked sideways at his companion, wondering how much of the man his son remembered. Wondering if he approved of the mother's lie to protect the father's reputation._

 _Merlin added, "I can definitely stay, though, now? Since my father was here, and you knew him?"_

 _Heaven save him, Gaius hesitated. With Balinor for a father and signs of magic predating puberty, young Merlin could be a veritable time-bomb. Dangerous, and maybe it would be best for the academy to have this boy far away when he 'exploded'. They did occasionally interfere magically in the public reporting of certain news stories, but that was both rare and risky._

 _And was an 'explosion' inevitable? Gaius wanted to believe that men made their own destiny, and that genuine and permanent change in a person's character was possible. That background and breeding could be overcome._

 _"I'm sure your mother and I can come to an arrangement," he said, reaching without thinking to put a hand on the boy's shoulder._

 _Merlin sidled away, avoiding the contact, and Gaius sighed._

 _One to keep his eye on, at least._

…..*….. …..*….. …..*…..

It was dark when Arthur drove through Culpeper, late and quiet. Quarter til midnight.

After a manic summer – internally and externally – he'd crossed the last _t_ and dotted the last _i_ for the DC business to take care of itself, under Leon's supervision, at least for the fall term. After a dinner somewhere between congratulations and condolences with the guys – Leon, Percival, and Gwaine – he'd loaded his car and driven southwest into Virginia.

He was mildly surprised at how far the traffic congestion extended from the city, even this late at night.

Out into the dark countryside – had he ever seen dark so dark? not in the city – the Chrysler's GPS brought him down a quiet narrow lane marked with an old wooden sign, Lone Oak Academy, and the school's full-foliaged tree-profile symbol. The lane ended before a pair of brick pillars that interrupted a seven-foot iron fence that looked a cross between medieval spears and film-noir prison bars. The paved road passed under a gate of the same construction, lit by small lantern-style electric lights on the pillars – then darkness stretched toward the school complex as pictured by the website, illuminated faintly and sporadically by lawn-lights.

Arthur rolled the car to a stop, expecting and looking for evidence of video surveillance – but there wasn't any. No mounted cameras, no speaker mic. He shifted into park, got out of the car, and approached the gate.

Locked, and tightly secure.

Arthur wondered if he should honk the horn and flash the lights, or get on his phone and try to call Dr. Gaius' number, in spite of the hour.

Then a sudden gust of wind brought him a spicy, flowery scent, and a voice.

" _Ouch_. Gosh… damn roses."

Arthur took a step back as a young man stumbled out of the shadow of the brick pillar to the left of the gate. He could have sworn there was no one for a hundred yards around, at least.

Tall, and in spite of the baggy maroon hoodie and dark-plaid pajama pants, his frame showed slender, rather than muscular or weighty. Thick black hair covered his ears and brushed the hood of the sweatshirt at his neck.

"Sorry, I fell asleep, and misjudged the position when I 'ported out here." He grinned and lifted a hand to shade his eyes from Arthur's headlights. "Hi, I'm Merlin. Lone Oak head of security."

All in all, Arthur was ninety-percent sure he was being pranked by an upper-classman.

"Uh-huh," he said sardonically. "How about opening the gate for me, then?"

"Oh – right." The young man reached to touch one of the bars negligently – blinked a flash of golden light from his eyes – and the entire gate structure between the brick pillars disappeared.

Arthur jerked back in shock – then retreated another step from the young man who'd performed the sudden magic.

 _Okay. So, yeah, it's a magic school, stuff like this will happen every day_ , he tried to tell his thudding heart.

The other – Merlin – had noticed his reaction; his brows drew together worriedly. "Sorry – again – hells, I must be still half asleep. I forgot you didn't – you might not be comfortable with – I mean, around magic that you don't –"

"It's fine," Arthur said, resisting the urge to tell him to shut up. Most of that was annoyance at his own betrayal of alarm anyway. "It's just something I'll have to get used to, right?"

"Yeah." Merlin's face, which seemed to hide no expression of feeling, relaxed in relief. "Or, well, you'll get used to _not_ being used to what can happen here, magically speaking…" Arthur shifted impatiently, and the other added lamely, "You can expect it to be unexpected, is what I mean…"

Arthur grunted. "Well, it's late, so maybe…"

"Sure! I can… ride with you, show you where to park, and bring your stuff?" Merlin gestured to the passenger door of the Chrysler.

"If you promise _that_ –" Arthur waved a hand to indicate the non-existent gate – "is not going to happen to my car."

Merlin's grin made Arthur suspect senior-prank again, but in spite of the nervous babbling, the younger man possessed a sort of reserved confidence Arthur had never seen in a high-schooler. "I promise nothing will happen to your car."

Arthur wasn't convinced, and because he was watching closely, he was certain he'd seen another unconcealed gleam of magic as Merlin glanced over his car, grill to tailpipe, in touching the door handle. But nothing happened, and Merlin settled into the small, intimate space with an awkward grace. Arthur reached for the gear shift hoping he covered his own discomfort.

"Just… follow the drive around past the main building – then circle to the left. The lot is behind the last building… can't miss it… We haven't got many cars back there, though, you'll have your pick of spots…"

Merlin shifted in the seat, glancing behind them; Arthur checked his side mirror surreptitiously, and noted that the iron gate was back in place, blocking the road. Logic couldn't help the shiver that chased itself down his spine.

"So… long drive?" Merlin didn't let the silence linger.

"It was all right," Arthur allowed, ducking to get a better look at the buildings they were rolling past – then realized the question had been a polite cover for a deeper meaning. "My friends in DC were treating me to something like a goodbye dinner, I didn't get away as early as I could've, probably."

Merlin nodded, expression eager for the conversation and willing to accept Arthur's excuse with no offense taken personally, an attitude that seemed somewhat naïve to Arthur, if his tardiness had caused difficulty or interruption in Merlin's evening.

To lay his suspicions to rest, Arthur said, "So how long have you been here?"

"About… seven years, cumulatively. Yeah, just around this last building, to the back. Lone Oak was my high school, actually. When I graduated, I tried a few other things for about eighteen months, before… Gaius convinced me to come back here and see how I did as school security officer."

Arthur did the math instinctively. Merlin would have been a new freshman when Morgana was a senior. From his own high school experience, seniors and freshmen mixed like oil and water, and Dr. Gaius had advised him, he would do better to earn the trust of the magic community, before he started asking questions, if he expected them answered honestly and openly. There was wisdom in that, of a sort; Arthur had privately decided, he might learn more from anyone who knew anything, if he didn't broadcast his intentions from the get-go. And if there were more sinister forces at work, he didn't want to make himself an unwitting target.

He pulled the car between two reflective-yellow lines on the pavement, several spaces down from the back door, a single glass-and-handle entrance. Switching off the engine, he and Merlin simultaneously reached for door handles, and the security officer – really? at not-yet-twenty-five? – mirrored his move to the car's trunk as a push of a button on his key chain opened it.

Arthur hefted the larger piece of luggage, a suitcase with wheels and tow-handle that a full-grown man might have curled up in – and Merlin, to his credit, didn't hesitate to shrug into the shoulder strap of the second bag.

"They told you about bringing your own bedding, right?" Merlin said breathlessly, staggering up to the sidewalk under the weight of Arthur's bag.

He shut his trunk firmly, trying and failing to think of a polite way to offer to switch bags – the bigger yet easier one, for the smaller yet heavier. "Yeah. Feels a lot like a return to college dorm life."

And not the least because he hadn't slept in a twin-size bed since then, either. All that was lacking was his computer desk tucked under the loft bed at a 5'5" clearance because he insisted on a short-couch and half-fridge, microwave and TV, in the rest of the space.

Merlin snorted. "Couldn't say. Never been."

So higher education was not one of the things the younger man had tried, between high school and this job.

Arthur wheeled his larger bag to the door Merlin held open, over the threshold. Long dark hall lit by a single ceiling panel thirty or maybe forty yards down before it made a left turn. Dark carpet and white-washed block wall, windowless doors of polished wood, and all was quiet.

"There's a teacher's lounge, third door on your right on this level," Merlin informed him, beginning to haul himself up by the handrail of the open staircase of painted concrete to the immediate right of the outside door. "You can watch TV or play games… pool, or – ping-pong… There's a kitchen. They keep the fridge stocked. As an alternative to… the cafeteria."

They reached a landing, Merlin ahead of Arthur ahead of his case, thump-thumping up the stairs, and Merlin paused to adjust the strap of Arthur's duffel on his shoulder.

"Sorry, it's heavy," Arthur said awkwardly. "You don't have to –"

"What's in here?... Feels like… books."

"Some," Arthur admitted. "But they're textbooks."

"In that case…" Merlin twitched an _I-don't-mind_ in body language, and began the second set of steps to the upstairs level like it was the last slope of Everest. "They'll do a – welcome dinner for you – tomorrow night. Meet 'n' greet. Fair warning."

Arthur recalled his first board meeting. Couldn't be that bad. He'd get through.

And noticed that Merlin's shoes were trailing untied laces under the baggy cuffs of his checked cotton pants. He blurted, "Your shoes are untied."

Merlin stopped halfway up the stair, bent forward against the weight of the duffel at the back of his hips. As Arthur bumped the larger bag up to the same step and paused, Merlin looked up at him, brows down in an incomprehensive frown in the dim stairwell light.

"You could trip," Arthur said defensively. And something in Merlin's shift of expression prompted him to add sarcastically, "And fall down the stairs with my stuff and break something in there and make a horrible mess…"

"And that would be the tragedy," Merlin returned in a similar tone.

Arthur watched him bend down – nearly fall – then try to keep his balance while lifting his foot to the edge of a step several above where he stood. Try to bend down again – nearly unbalance – and glance up at Arthur in an aggressive sort of embarrassment.

"Can't you just –" Arthur wiggled the fingers of his free hand. "Abracadabra?"

Merlin scoffed. "Well – yeah. I just thought… if you were uncomfortable with it…"

"Unfamiliar," Arthur corrected, deliberately suppressing the vast load of anti-magic rhetoric he'd heard his whole life. Maybe containing a couple of valid points, but mostly small-minded spite, maturity could now admit. "But I don't want anyone to feel like they have to do anything different, because I'm here."

Merlin took a deep breath and let it out slowly, as if releasing half a dozen arguments he might have made, and Arthur could only guess at. "Yeah, all right."

His eyes gleamed gold once again, not quite their own illumination in the gloom, and the shoelaces slithered into knots and bows, and Arthur felt a shy thrill of fascination. It was a bit like watching a fish swim in an aquarium – a creature so different it was hard to comprehend, graceful and even admirable… as long as it remained separate? Because what happened when that glass wall came down?

Without another word, Merlin followed Arthur up to the second floor, out into another hallway identical to the one below. Easy enough floor-plan, anyway.

The duffel thumped the younger man's body out of stride at every step, while the larger suitcase rolled smooth and silent behind Arthur. Merlin stopped at the second door on the right, 205 in black numbers on a metal card next to the handle. His hand hovered, before the lock clicked internally, and he shouldered the door open, digging in his hoodie pocket for something he handed back to Arthur.

Key, by the feel. There was an indirect interior light on in the room, but Merlin reached to switch on the overhead light and Arthur saw, the room key was attached by a short chain to the charm of an American flag. Funny to think of him as part of this minority, still feeling patriotic to a nation who hadn't always treated his people with basic consideration.

Then, as Merlin lugged the duffel further into the room, Arthur stopped short in the doorway.

Rocker/recliner on the wall to the left, short couch on the wall to the right – both unmatched and well-worn, but the couch still showed the imprint of a person's body, a pillow-case covered bed-pillow with a head-dent crooked over one of its arms.

Two desks. One facing the inner wall just beside the door, clear but for an unlit lamp, the other under the window across the room – and obviously in use. Row of books on the wide window sill above, held in place by a chunk of polished rock; on the desk itself was a closed laptop, at least two half-size notebooks, and a stack of colored folders.

At the far end of the room, two open doorways faced each other. Through the one on the left behind the rocker-recliner, Arthur saw the corner of a smooth countertop and wall-mirror; Merlin had paused in the doorway to the right, where the light was on.

"S'matter?" he said.

"Sorry," Arthur said, and this time didn't mean it. And didn't move to enter the room. "This is _my_ room? Dr. Gaius didn't mention I was _sharing_."

His first two years of college, he'd insisted upon dorm living, to be just like everyone else, but even then, he'd had a single _private_ room. He'd never shared. In his life.

"It's with me," Merlin said, as if the fact should have been obvious to Arthur.

"That's supposed to make it better?" Arthur demanded incredulously, not even caring, in the moment, if he was behaving rudely. He was totally out of his element – deep in the countryside, at a high school where he was supposed to teach classes. To teenage magic-users.

Merlin looked like it didn't even occur to him to take Arthur's offense personally. His eyebrows and the corners of his mouth drew up, and he rested the duffel on the arm of the dark green vinyl couch.

"You could share with George Valiant. He used to be head of security, now he just does grounds-work, but he's seriously dull. You could share with Cory Sigan, but he's a seriously self-important ass and trust me, you'd be miserable. Or there's Edwin, but – don't tell him I said this – he's creepy. He smiles while he's making fun of you like he thinks you're too stupid to realize, he's making fun of you. He _acts_ humble, if you know what I mean. There's Clarence Aglain, but he is a very deeply religious druid, and you probably won't feel comfortable sharing his space. If he even let you…" Merlin shrugged, grin spreading impish. "They won't let you share with a female, so…"

"So I'm stuck with you," Arthur growled.

"Oh, don't be like that," Merlin said audaciously. "You never know. We might be famous friends."

Hoisting the duffel, he passed through the doorway, flicking the light switch. Arthur followed reluctantly – to see that the bedroom was easily the same size as the main room. Plenty of space between the two twin-size beds, though the wardrobe-style closets at the far end were right next to each other. One had doors and drawers open to show they were empty; the other all shut, but at least there wasn't clutter all over, and the bed that was made up, was neatly made.

The other bed was frame and bare mattress. Arthur thought of the navy-blue and white pinstripe bed-set he'd bought and brought, and said helplessly, "Do you snore?"

"Do you?" Merlin shot back, unloading the duffel between Arthur's closet and bed – not simply dropping it to the floor, but lowering it with care sufficient to satisfy Arthur.

"If I did?" Arthur challenged. "You'd silence me with magic?"

Merlin gave him a very odd look, almost like he was disappointed, somehow – and now Arthur had no trouble believing him possessed of maturity sufficient to secure a boarding-school campus.

"Something like that would be against the rules," he said. "And yes, we do have rules about the use of magic here at Lone Oak, for the teachers as well as the students. One of them being, you don't use magic on someone else, without their knowledge and permission."

"Oh," Arthur said inanely.

"It's late," Merlin said, glancing at a red-illumined digital clock on the window-ledge of the room, low at waist-height. Blinds were pulled to cover the wall-to-wall windows; Arthur thought the room would be flooded with natural light during the day when they were open, and tried to figure which compass point they faced. "Gaius suggested I conduct your orientation tomorrow, since all the students arrived today, so… there's that. If you want to… get cleaned up, I can… fix your bed?"

Arthur gave him a rather sharp look of evaluation. There was a whole world of subtext possible there, but Merlin grimaced and rolled his eyes.

"I mean, then you won't keep me awake trying to figure out which sheet goes first and whether or not the blanket is upside down… One-time offer, I am _not_ your servant."

What, really, would be the point of refusing? If he was stuck sharing living space with this strange – and magical – young man, all year, the least he could do would be to try to get along. He bent to unzip his suitcase, and pulled out the plastic package of new bedding tucked into one corner. Tossing it up to bounce on the mattress, he retrieved his bathroom kit and clean clothes before straightening.

"Knock yourself out. I guess I'll unpack the rest tomorrow."

"If you don't decide to run away screaming," Merlin agreed with humor, reaching for the bedding bundle.

"I wouldn't run, I would drive," Arthur informed him loftily, heading for the doorway – now able to see across the main room and through the opposite doorway. Two sinks and probably separated from the other facilities by another door.

"Not in that car you won't. I've enchanted it to stay." Merlin pulled out the first sheet, shaking it open with his back to the door – then turned as he realized Arthur hadn't taken another step, his expressive face breaking into a ridiculous grin. "Kidding."

Arthur snorted irritation at himself for falling for the joke. "But you _did_ do magic on my car, didn't you."

"Sure. It's just a charm that'll let you drive in and out through the gate. The teachers that live in town have the same thing on their vehicles."

Merlin turned back to the domestic chore he was performing for Arthur, and he crossed the main room toward the bathroom slowly and thoughtfully. If the younger man had attended school here, he'd be accustomed to roommate protocol – and seemed to want to make a good impression on Arthur as their first nonmagical instructor. Arthur didn't get the feeling Merlin resented his presence in any capacity, and Dr. Gaius would probably not have entrusted him to someone who didn't agree with his concept of eventual integration.

That reaction he'd experienced, to see the road-gate back in place – magically – was receding. He wasn't trapped or threatened, he wasn't a prisoner. Nor even a guest, really, though his new roommate evidently wished him a sincere welcome. The younger man had relaxed perceptibly from the moment they'd first laid eyes on each other through that gate – not yet an hour, even. Arthur was not sure how that made him feel, to realize that a magic-user had placed such trust in _him_ , to share his living space. Not friends, but at the very least, respected colleagues. Would he have done so, had a magic-user applied to a staff position at the Marriott?

In the bathroom separate from the sinks, there were two towel bars – that was nice to see. A single rug on the bathroom floor, but large enough to cover most of the tile, fluffy but fast-drying, by the look of it. The shower curtain was a moss green color and plain, the liner and tub-surround clean, Merlin's soap-dish and shampoo bottle confined to one of the two ledges.

Arthur moved his stuff into the shower, rinsed and dried off, putting on the baggy silk basketball shorts and t-shirt he was used to sleeping in. Having brushed his teeth, he crossed back to the bedroom, noticing that the carpet felt home-comfortable, not hotel-room-dubious.

Ten minutes tops, he thought he'd taken. But the lights were out in the main room, his bed made with the navy sheets and coverlet, one corner turned back; he couldn't help but wonder if magic had been used on them.

Merlin sprawled on his back under his own ketchup-and-mustard tartan cover. Eyes shut, arms hugging the top edge of his blanket lazily to his chest – Arthur marked the presence of a t-shirt with relief; there was sharing, and there was _sharing_ \- both bony wrists were crossed by twin bands of slender braided leather.

Dropping that day's clothes – he'd have to find his laundry bag tomorrow and ask about facilities – on his suitcase, he flicked off the light and felt his way blindly to his turned-down bed. Sheets cool and crisp, mattress not uncomfortably hard or hollowed by previous use. Arthur sighed, trying to relax. Trying to ignore the fact and sound of another man sleeping in the same room.

Then, just as he was relaxing - "Arthur?"

"Gosh sakes, what are we, in fourth grade summer camp?"

In the moment of silence that followed, Arthur cringed. It was all well and good to claim, no magic used upon another person, but… Who was making a bad impression now?

"Never been to summer camp." In the darkness Merlin sounded contemplative. And unoffended. "I was going to say, I have a confession to make."

More silence. Arthur was uncertain he wanted to know.

"What?"  
" _I_ could've moved with George or Sigan or Edwin or Aglain. And you could've had this one to yourself."

Without thinking, Arthur said, "Bastard."

And Merlin _snickered_.

Arthur almost did as well, in surprised disbelief that he was getting along quite well with the younger man, though they couldn't have been more different. Gwaine had said, on parting, _You'll miss us_ … now Arthur thought, maybe not as much as he'd expected.

Then Merlin said, "Thought I'd take my chances with you, instead."

Arthur gazed into the dark toward the ceiling for a long moment, wondering how to respond. So the other teachers really were that bad? Or did Merlin realize himself intolerable to those who already knew him? Comforting thought.

But this member of the magical community was willing to befriend him, and that meant… quite a lot, actually. Even if it was just for the sake of loyalty to his employer, on Merlin's part.

Arthur said, "Thanks, Merlin. I mean it."

And Merlin sounded happy when he shuffled himself to a new position and said, "G'night."

 **A/N: Thank you very much to everyone who reviewed, and who sent good luck wishes for my move! Which has not gone well at all! I am still without a home of my own but at least my family is long-suffering and has now gotten wifi! And life goes on… but very busy, so I can't make any promises about future updates, though much rough draft is written.**

 **Also, re the actual story that you all care about. Don't worry about various canon villains showing up in the current action, there will be no unnecessary complications with them. Just, not very nice people and Arthur/Merlin don't make friends with them. Because I decided to do that rather than use OC's.**

 **Oh, and also. Big nod to** _ **The Chronicles of Narnia**_ **; I just love the lamppost imagery and symbolism!**


	3. Scrambled Eggs and Peach Cobbler

**Chapter 3: Scrambled Eggs and Peach Cobbler**

Arthur came to consciousness slowly at a soft and rhythmic sound – rubbing, clicking. His mind had just defined the noise as window-blinds, when –

"Morning!"

Sunlight slapped his face and he cringed. The bedroom windows faced east. Arthur groaned and dove under his pillow, seeking dim and retreating sleep – and found only one of those.

"Rise and shine! my mom used to say…"

Morgana used to be an early riser; more than once when they were children she'd pounced on him in his bed – literally – before some anticipated vacation or daytrip. Must be the magic, he grumbled.

"What's that? Didn't catch what you said?"

Between his pillow and cover, Arthur glared one-eyed at Merlin, perched on the edge of his already-made bed fully dressed, jeans with the maroon hoodie. "I said, you're damn obnoxious."

Merlin laughed.

Not like an idiot, who didn't know Arthur was deadly serious, but as if he found the mood amusing, and trusted it wouldn't last. And that actually made Arthur feel better than if the younger man had reacted defensively, to place blame on Arthur and claim innocence in the offense. Merlin didn't seem the chip-on-the-shoulder type; Arthur could live better with that.

"What time is it?" he grunted, punching his pillow further out of his way.

"Eight-thirty."

He groaned again over his loss of freedom. Eight-thirty on a Sunday morning – and classes started tomorrow. He wasn't sure how he was going to respond to an inflexible work schedule set by someone else.

Merlin added, "I was going to make breakfast in the teachers' lounge. Before your orientation? I mean, I know you don't need your hand held here, but… I thought it might be nice. Your first morning. Low-key."

Leon was thoughtful. Percival was thoughtful. Gwaine was _not_ , but he made up for it with loyalty… Merlin, it seemed, was thoughtful too, but not confident that it was welcome.

"One-time offer?" Arthur said, tossing his covers back and rolling his legs out, tipping reluctantly to vertical. "Next time let me sleep through breakfast. I won't mind."

"Nuh uh," Merlin said, grinning. And in the full morning light Arthur had to wonder again if his roommate wasn't a seventeen-year-old senior playing tricks. "Next time is your turn to _cook_."

"Oh hell no," Arthur said, rummaging in his bag for clean jeans and an olive-green long-sleeve tee.

"Oh hell yes," Merlin returned with impudent cheer. "What do fancy rich city boys eat for breakfast? Poached eggs with homemade hollandaise sauce? Vegetarian omelets? Belgian waffles with fresh out-of-season fruit and whipped cream? Red velvet pancakes. Croissants."

He said the last with a passable French accent, following Arthur toward the bathroom, though he stopped at the desk that was obviously his. Putting his feet on the chair and his butt on the desktop, he opened his computer on his knees.

"Now you're making me hungry," Arthur remarked. "And, fancy rich city boys don't make their own breakfasts. Ever."

"Is it the upstairs maid, or the downstairs?" Merlin worked his keyboard swiftly but casually.

"Neither. It's the cook."

Merlin snorted derision, but it was playfully done. He turned his full attention to the computer while Arthur finished getting ready, then stood and abandoned it for his shoes. Arthur figured on unpacking later, and wondered if they could get a coffee pot set up in the room.

Out in the hall, no one was in sight, but there was noise – bustle and voices that caught his attention toward the end of the corridor that turned instead of ending.

"Students' rooms," Merlin explained, closing the door behind them. "You've got your key?"

Arthur nodded, feeling for the key and flag keychain in his pocket, and the lock snicked shut behind them. Magic, of course, but he didn't feel as jumpy as he'd expected. Maybe it was just a question of getting to know magic-users as individuals – as anyone else, being able to anticipate what they would and wouldn't do, in any given situation.

"The hall is open," Merlin explained, heading the opposite direction, for the stair. "But the students aren't allowed down the teachers' wing."

"When I was in school," Arthur said casually, following the younger man down the stair, " _not allowed_ was an open invitation for some kids to do whatever they'd just been told not to."

"Were you one of them?" Merlin asked, giving him a knowing glance, back and upward over his shoulder as they descended.

Arthur couldn't help grinning back. "Friends with them," he corrected. Gwaine had been one, a compulsive rebel – and now was an excellent security manager.

"Lots of friends?" Merlin jogged down the last few steps, swinging into the lower-level hallway without looking back, this time. "You seem the type. Prom king. Sports captain. Senior class voted most likely to fill-in-the-blank."

Arthur followed him. This hallway was much like upstairs, dark blue carpet in decent shape for a high school, closed doors of polished wood, busy noises filtering around the corner. All it needed was lockers and posters and flyers… and they might have all that, in the classroom building.

"There are a lot more people who want to _say_ they're your friend," Arthur stated, slowly and deliberately, "than people who are willing to _be_ a friend. There's a difference."

Merlin stopped with his hand on the door and looked at Arthur, and _there_ was the maturity necessary for an adult position in deep blue eyes. There was grief and regret there, experience that wasn't good or happy – a glimpse of trauma? – before the younger man smiled.

"I know what you mean. In elementary school, I had a friend." He yanked the door of the teacher's lounge open, saying over his shoulder as he led Arthur inside, "His name was –"

"Well, good morning!"

Merlin dropped his sentence without pausing his step, though Arthur lingered just inside the door as a woman – the room's lone occupant – rose to her feet behind a large table set for one. She wasn't tall and she wasn't fat, but comfortably padded as an older, grandmotherly lady should be. Her cheeks bunched and her eyes twinkled; a gray-flecked braid of thick light brown hair hung over the shoulder of a gray-and-blue plaid shirt which she wore with a full-length denim skirt.

"You must be Arthur Pendragon," she added, leaving her place setting and coffee mug. "I didn't notice you arrive last night, it must have been late?"

"It was." Arthur stood still as the lady approached, beaming like he was a long-lost grandson. He was terrified she was going to hug him, and Merlin was across the room at a kitchenette – appliances and cupboards and sink – but she only took his right hand between both of hers, squeezed it and kept it.

"No trouble on your drive, I hope?" she said.

He assured her, "No, just – late leaving the city."

Faintly anxious wrinkles smoothed to warm compassion. "It is very good of you to come here and take these classes for us," she said. "I know it's never easy, leaving home, but I hope the strangeness wears off soon and you feel comfortable here. You're rooming with Merlin–" she gave the young man's back a fond glance which told Arthur volumes about his new acquaintance – "that will help."

"Introduce yourself, Alice." Merlin didn't turn from rummaging in lower cabinets, and came up with a medium-size saucepan. Clattering it on the stovetop, he reached for the fridge handle.

"Yes, sorry, forgive me." A smile crinkled her face, and she squeezed his hand again. "Alice Manning. I'm the school nurse."

"Oh," Arthur said with more interest. So this was the woman who'd found Morgana, nearly ten years ago now. But – now wasn't the time. He'd wait to ask.

"We'll talk tonight," Alice promised him. "I have records to update on the students and a schedule of dispensation of medication to finish, but –"

"I'll take care of this stuff," Merlin offered from the kitchenette, with a vague gesture toward Alice's used dishes.

"Would you be a dear?" Alice said to him gratefully, then turned back to Arthur with another twinkly-eyed smile. "Try not to be too overwhelmed today? And tonight – don't worry about us. Just enjoy yourself."

"Are you making your peach cobbler?" Merlin called as she reached for the door.

"This afternoon," she answered, and was gone.

Arthur let the door close, and wandered past the table to the end of the kitchenette counter, where the coffeepot was hot and still half-full. He reached for two mugs and quipped, "So she's your mom, right?"

Merlin grinned as he left eggs scrambled and sizzling in the pan to scoop the dirty dishes from the table to the sink. "Alice never had kids. Should've, huh? She's an ex-ER nurse. Half a dozen major-city hospitals up and down the coast… Sit down, this'll be ready in a minute."

He shoved his sleeves up in a reflexive motion, and Arthur noticed that the strange braided-leather bands held two silver ornaments – symbols or shapes, he couldn't tell – against the inside of his wrists.

Arthur said, "You take cream and sugar?"

"Two of each?"

As Merlin located plates and forks, Arthur craned to see into the pan on the stovetop; somehow the eggs were keeping their distance from the strips of bacon, whose grease wasn't mixing with and browning the fluffy yellow eggs. _This_ sort of magic he could get used to.

"His name was…" Arthur said conversationally. He wandered back to the table with the two mugs of doctored coffee, but eyed the couch and recliners and TV. Did they do football parties here? Did they even follow sports or cheer for favorite teams? When legislation was still in effect preventing magic-users from playing for professional teams or on college scholarships, or even being employed by the franchise?

"What?"

"Your friend," Arthur reminded him. Did _a_ friend mean only _one_ friend? "In elementary school."

"His name was Will," Merlin said.

He didn't turn from the stove, poking into the pan with a flat-headed spatula; Arthur suspected he might have waited to see if Arthur's interest survived the interruption, before continuing the story. Arthur didn't press, only waited patiently.

"He wasn't magic, but he loved it. Fascinated by it. Made me feel special like even my mom couldn't, always – til his parents split and he had to move, middle of sixth grade. He was built like a junior football player – one of the biggest kids in our class. Bloodied his knuckles more than once for me."

Casually said, but heavily significant, and Arthur didn't know how to respond. There had never been any students with magic in the schools he'd attended, as far as he was aware, but kids were kids and there had been enough bullying over other issues and differences to make Arthur doubt the treatment of a magic-user, if there had been one. Would he have been like Will – or those he'd fought?

"But…" he said, frowning as he straddled the chair at the foot of the table, where he could see the younger man. "Elementary school? I thought magic was supposed to start at puberty?"

"Generally _shows_ then," Merlin corrected, his focus on the pan. "I'm something of a… freak among freaks."

Arthur felt vaguely uncomfortable. He was the minority in a minority community; was he supposed to contradict the biased slang when someone applied it to himself, or not? He said sardonically, "Oh, is that the technical term?"

Merlin didn't look at him, but the corner of his mouth lifted in a smile. "I used to think it was because of my dad. Since my mom is ordinary."

"Who was your dad?" Arthur said curiously.

Merlin turned off the stove. Tipped the pan to divide eggs and bacon between two plates. Ran water into the pan to rinse it, and left it tilted in the sink. Gathered silverware in napkins against the edges of both plates, and carried them carefully to the table. Set one down in front of Arthur without flourish, and seated himself behind the other in the place at Arthur's left hand.

"Garlic and parsley," he said, pointing his fork at Arthur's mound of green-flecked eggs, before diving into his own.

Of course he'd heard the question. And hadn't belligerently told Arthur off. Wasn't giving him the cold shoulder as an enormous silent hint that such questions were uninvited dead-ends – but also hadn't foisted him off with some shallow excuse. It was maybe, they'd just met and he really didn't know much about Arthur. Maybe because, the little he did know, did not invite confidence of a personal nature.

Arthur said, "My dad passed away this spring."

It was hard to say; he hadn't yet had to say it to a stranger. Everyone already in his life had known, since. His first mouthful was painful to swallow. Merlin didn't look up at him, but his fork slowed attentively.

"My grandfather was the one who earned his fortune," Arthur said. "He died before I can remember. My father inherited everything, and I have no aunts or uncles. I think, it was a lot of pressure on my dad – and if my mother had lived, she would have been very good for him. But she didn't."

Now Merlin's eyes were on him – fork hovering, breakfast cooling unheeded - though Arthur avoided meeting his gaze, staring instead at the tabletop. He couldn't have explained, why he was saying these things. Leon and Gwaine and Percival knew them, without having to shape the emotions of the past with voiced words. It scared him to fold back these layers – but it also felt right. And that scared him a bit more.

But because Pendragons weren't afraid of anything, he continued. "My father was demanding and nearly impossible to please. He was… on heart medication, and hated it. The whole idea of his condition, that he had a weak heart, was intolerable to him. He had his first heart attack the day after New Year's. And then his last one, the thirteenth of May."

"I'm really sorry," Merlin said. And his condolences were as sincere as those of only three other men, that Arthur knew. He turned his attention back to his plate, and Arthur did the same.

 _Ball's in your court, dude._

Though he did kind of hope Merlin would lob it back, and it would turn out to be a good thing. Not something that grew uncomfortable between them, forced to still share lodgings if no true friendliness lasted or deepened.

"My dad was in the Army when I was born," Merlin said, chasing the last bits of egg around his plate, too small to stay on the tines of his fork.

Arthur felt his eyebrows shoot up. Because that was also an enormously controversial aspect of this particular minority's acceptance by society. Magic-users in the military. What would they do differently than the others? What wouldn't they do? Could they be trusted with the equipment, or munitions, or clearance-level information? But no other minority had such restrictions imposed…

He said without thinking it through, "An officer?"

Merlin mocked him, and his automatic assumption of education, with a look. _Yeah, right_. "There was an incident. A training accident – during maneuvers some live rounds went off inside a Bradley – my father saved his two crew-mates, but it was obviously magic, and he hadn't told them about it when he joined the army."

"Huh," Arthur said intelligently. Wordless otherwise.

And Merlin continued. "I located one of the other soldiers who'd been there, a few years ago, told me the story. My father was dishonorably discharged for falsifying his enlistment data. And tracked by certain elements in the military who were interested in pursuing experimentation of magic…" Merlin flicked a glance at Arthur under the fringe of his hair over his forehead. "He joined the Dragonlords to escape."

That revelation set Arthur right back in his seat, his own tableware abandoned. It was terribly unethical – but not entirely illogical – that those sorts of experiments would exist. All voluntary, the public was assured.

But to choose instead to join the notorious cult-gang? The Dragonlords as a group had admitted to half a dozen different leaders over the years, and had never been completely eliminated by the law. Some stories told of gallantry, some of cruelty, and no one really knew the truth. Arthur had gone through a phase in his teen years of comparing them to modern-day Robin Hoods, partly because his father had condemned them all so thoroughly and irrationally.

"So my mother finally explained to me," Merlin added, feigning nonchalance – but his eyes were steady on Arthur. "She said they made sure we were taken care of – me and her, in return for my father's participation and loyalty."

Arthur resisted the urge to point out, so did inner-city drug-gangs and Mafia-style crime families.

"For a few years, anyway. Then my dad tried to get out, a little too late. He was killed in a massive shoot-out with the cops. My mother told me, he was working undercover _for_ them, trying to make peace with the Dragonlords, but…" Merlin shrugged. "Nobody would admit it. Not when an unauthorized operation went so far south."

"You – didn't have to tell me," Arthur said, his mouth feeling dry. "All that."

Merlin shrugged like it was no big deal. "Emrys isn't a common name. You'd have found all that stuff if you'd googled… might as well know it up front."

Arthur considered. He'd defended his father's actions and attitudes to those who hadn't known or understood Uther Pendragon, too. But at least the world had acknowledged him an honest and canny businessman, if one with unseen layers. He couldn't imagine having to defend a father the world considered a criminal of the lowest order. Then again, Merlin hadn't changed his name, either.

"Did you ever think about joining the Dragonlords?" he said curiously. These days they were nuisances as protestors and rioters, but nothing more sinister. "Between high school and this job?"

"The thing about that –"

Merlin cut himself off, looking down at his left wrist, where the strange silver charm was glowing. He twisted in his seat to look toward the far corner of the room as if he could see past the wall – and maybe he could. Maybe he could hear beyond the room also.

"Sorry, gotta go. Leave this stuff, and –" Merlin made a grab for the napkin Arthur hadn't yet used. His eyes gleamed, blue to gold and back again, as he half-rose from his chair. "I'll find you later."

And he was gone. Literally, disappeared right in front of Arthur's eyes. One blink and he was there – the next he wasn't. A puff of spicy-scented air buffeted Arthur's face, stirred a few locks of his hair, and he was alone in the room – breathing and heart-rate heightened at the quick and casual display of magic _he'd_ consider powerful.

No wonder the military and government were so concerned. Arthur chided himself for the thought.

Well, Merlin was the security officer, after all. Gwaine had departed unexpectedly on occasion also – just, out the door like any normal person. Any ordinary person.

Arthur looked at his napkin, criss-crossed and smudged with black lines. Spread it flat, and looked at it again, turned it slightly and realized he was looking at a map of campus. He snorted. Half-offended at being left on his own in an unfamiliar place so unexpectedly – slightly nervous to be submerged so entirely in the magical community – and half-glad Merlin evidently trusted him to be competently self-sufficient.

Well, he still had things to unpack. Laundry facility to locate. And his classroom – there was the library, and the gym, attached by a long hall to the classroom building. And the headmaster's office.

Yeah, might be a good idea to stop and say hello to Dr. Gaius.

…..*….. …..*….. …..*….. …..*….. …..*…..

Arthur didn't get to that room in the administrative wing of the primary building – not the largest, but the one in front – until later in the afternoon.

The campus was old in a stately sort of way, which made him wonder exactly how long magic-users had been meeting and learning here, if legislation had only admitted basic citizens' rights to them in the last half-century. Hard-wood flooring, creaky and polished with age and use. Vaulted ceilings, at least in this building – the classroom building, he thought, had been remodeled maybe fifteen or twenty years ago – carpet and lockers and ceiling tiles.

But, just as he was approaching the door he'd identified as the correct one – the headmaster's name on a brass plate on the wall beside it – it opened. The school's youthful head of security, black-haired and incorrigible Merlin, backed out, for all the world like a student excusing a misdeed.

"I know, Gaius," he was saying, over the murmur of the old man's voice from further inside the room. "I _know_ , and I will. I will, I swear. Starting tomorrow."

He let the door close on Dr. Gaius' raised exclamation of his name, " _Merlin_!" and winced, turning to see Arthur. His happy grin of greeting forgot, or at least covered, whatever issue the headmaster had been pressing him about.

"Hey!" he said. "Sorry I left you with dishes this morning. There was a… thing, with a… couple of the kids, and it took… awhile, to clear up. Just reporting to Gaius."

Arthur hummed sympathetic comprehension, to show he hadn't taken offense. Gwaine and Percival had from the first day resisted giving him particulars on problems already handled, and that was in his own hotel. He didn't imagine that someone like him should be told private details, and rather approved of Merlin keeping things confidential.

"It's fine," he said. "I managed – your map was very good."

And magic. Obviously.

Merlin beamed, almost childishly pleased at the praise, and it gave Arthur a funny feeling at the top of his stomach. "Good, I'm glad. Lunch?"

"Cafeteria," Arthur answered.

Merlin gave a sigh-grimace-shrug combination to demonstrate apology and resignation. "It isn't the best, but the cook won't poison you. No other troubles?"

"The one dryer in the basement laundry needs a kick before it'll take the last quarter."

"Ha! Yeah, it does. I forgot that." And again, Merlin didn't take the criticism personally, didn't try to defend his home to the interloper. "You mean to have a word with Gaius? Don't let him get talking and forget to bring you by the teachers' lounge for your dinner. Did you meet any of the others today?"

"Not really." A cordial head-nod when eye contact was made across the cafeteria or in the hallway, didn't count in Arthur's book.

Merlin didn't push. "All right – I'll see you later."

Turning, he strode down the hall toward the stair to the door, his gait as uninhibited as his manner. Arthur watched him a moment, thinking about his one childhood friend, and the fact that he hadn't seemed close to any of the other male teachers, at least – but neither like he'd leach uncomfortably to Arthur. A contented loner – yet still able to be cheerful and open and offer Arthur a place in his life…

In contrast to the other adults, aside from Alice. By and large, he expected they were reserving judgment about him – and it made him feel the same.

He opened Dr. Gaius' door.

"And another thing –" the old man said testily, before stopping himself, his bushy gray eyebrows shooting up over the rims of his spectacles. "Oh – Arthur. I'm terribly sorry, I thought you were –"

"Merlin?" Arthur guessed humorously, closing the door behind him.

He crossed to take the headmaster's offered hand in greeting as the old man rose to his feet behind the desk. The office seemed to suit Gaius – stately furniture, antique in a useful and cared for way. Wall lined with busy bookshelves, obviously not just for show; Arthur wondered where the book on psychology might be. And whether there was a separate volume for magic-users' psychology.

"That boy," Dr. Gaius agreed, with a fond sort of grumpiness. "But now – welcome to Lone Oak. You got in late last night – safely, I trust? And your first day – how did you find us?" He gestured for Arthur to take the comfortable arm-chair across the desk, as he sank back into his own seat, his weight causing it to tip back to an accustomed angle.

"It was… as expected, generally," Arthur said politely.

"No one welcomed you with open arms?" the old man said with keen humor. "'Ah, an ordinary among us, how lovely!'"

Arthur felt a smile pull at his mouth; Gaius had a way, like Merlin, of addressing the issue directly but softening it with humor. "It would be the same in reverse, I think."

"Indeed. And you are wise not to take it personally. A society-wide malady only time and effort will cure."

Arthur hummed conditional agreement, thinking of the various groups on either side whose irrational spite made it harder for those without experience or inclination to form an unprejudiced opinion without it. Like the Dragonlords, maybe.

"And your accommodations? Comfortable and adequate, no complaints?" The old man's eyes twinkled with interest as he steepled his fingers together to hide his mouth.

And Merlin had just been going out. Maybe they'd been discussing whatever incident had taken Merlin's attention that morning and all day. But surely the canny old man had also gotten Merlin's first impressions of Arthur, to compare to his own. And Arthur appreciated Gaius _not_ trying to pretend otherwise.

"I won't be bored, at least," he said. "If he's willing to give me a chance, I'll do no less."

Gaius' smile grew both deeper, and fond. He sighed, swiveling his chair slightly to direct his gaze out the office window, to the great front lawn between that building and the magical front gate. "Merlin is… a work in progress," he said. "He is a unique young man. There is more to him than habitual cheer or energetic awkwardness. He has a great capacity for true and loyal friendship – though he is by no means perfect. And there is that in his past which… he has not yet overcome. "

Arthur glimpsed the depth of the older man's regard for the younger, and wondered what Gaius thought of those eighteen months – that evidently included tracking down old Army buddies of his father's, and investigating the circumstances of his death - what had prompted him to persuade his graduate to return as an employee.

"The Dragonlords?" Arthur said evenly, watching the venerable headmaster. Because, though Dr. Gaius had invited him here and advised him to understand the minority culture before he passed judgment regarding his sister's death – this man had been responsible for the student body at the time of Morgana's death, and might deserve at least a measure of tacit blame.

Dr. Gaius righted the chair with a startled shriek of unoiled mechanism. One eyebrow raised, all other emotion controlled. "I beg your pardon?" he said only.

"Merlin told me about his father, a bit," Arthur said.

Dr. Gaius breathed, and _looked_ at him. "Did he," he said softly. "Did he, now. What did he say?"

"His father joined the gang out of the Army, for the protection and provision they offered Merlin and his mother. And was cooperating with the authorities when the situation turned fatally violent."

"Only those authorities won't admit to that cooperation." Gaius sighed. "Hunith Emrys firmly believes her husband a hero. Above reproach. Officially, Balinor Emrys was a radical terrorist and a criminal. The truth is probably somewhere in the middle – and complicated, as the truth often is. A boy needs to discover himself – often through discovering his father. Whether yet living or passed on, whether he emulates or rejects… I will tell you two true things about your new acquaintance, Arthur Pendragon, that you would do well to take to heart. First that he is a good man, and far more essential to this school and the work we do here – beyond the three R's, you understand – than most realize. And second, that he doesn't deserve further hurt."

Arthur understood. Merlin's friendship – for all his casually cheerful energy – was rare and valuable, not to be taken for granted or reciprocated lightly.

He found himself thinking of the end of the term – of the year. The possibility that he wouldn't simply say goodbye and good luck, and return to his hotel in DC. That he might make relationships that were more than just mutually temporary. Did he want that? Did he want to deny that, if people like Merlin thought him worthy of the time and effort beyond the year's time?

"But come," Dr. Gaius said, pushing up from his chair. "Do you like peaches? Alice makes a mean cobbler."

Arthur rose also, trailing along as the old man led him back to the dormitory building, chatting lightly about Arthur's classroom and supplies, the books and lesson plans he'd been given to peruse over the summer, the handbook he'd glanced at and the role lists he hadn't.

And then, almost before he was ready, they were at the teachers' lounge – busy noise of life filtering down the corridor from the students' wing as he'd noticed earlier – and the old man was opening the door to usher him inside. Jazzy background music – myriad delicious smells – muted conversation that halted. Every eye on Arthur – and he avoided them to give his attention to the headmaster who escorted him.

"Good evening, friends and associates," Gaius said genially to the room. "This is Arthur Pendragon, our new teacher. I trust you will all introduce yourselves and make him feel welcome this evening."

"For he's a jolly good fellow," said one man, standing at the corner of the table with a red plastic cup in his hand. Scrawny, with sparse facial hair, bulging eyes, and crooked teeth. "That nobody can deny… Let's eat."

About half the others agreed with him, moving to gather about the table laden with food. Alice slapped the man's arm with an oven mitt, and beamed warmly at Arthur; two of the others who headed first for the food did so with wordlessly friendly smiles for him.

"Cory Sigan," Gaius told Arthur, and he assumed the old man meant the speaker. "State and national history, historical and contemporary magic. He isn't a fan of anyone without it…"

Which probably made sense – but was also undeniably as narrow-minded as the bigots down through history that the man no doubt despised.

Arthur searched for and found his first and closest acquaintance, lanky black-haired Merlin, in the far corner beside the TV – some college football game playing on low volume. Merlin stood very near a petite young woman with dark wavy hair brushing her shoulders – jeans and a gray zip-up hoodie painted artistically with green and pink swirls, and _she_ looked even younger than he did. The two were close enough to make Arthur _wonder_ , but neither crossed the short distance with any PDA, or even casual contact. They appeared to be arguing, but without any sense of malice – Merlin trying to persuade her of something, Arthur thought, before he lost sight of the younger man in the loose crowd gathered.

Maybe fifteen altogether, milling about with cups and filled plates, clustering and talking and breaking apart again. Gaius excused himself to join Alice in the kitchen area – and watching _them_ , Arthur wondered as well, with a smile of respect and approval.

In spite of Cory Sigan's snide sarcasm, Arthur was introduced to nearly all the others, in the first half-hour. Some he remembered, some he didn't. Edwin Muirden, whom Merlin had mentioned, was obsequious, the sort to mock and then say, _oh sorry inside joke._ Chem, bio-chem, potions and antidotes. He actually bowed – slightly – and asked after Arthur's credentials; Arthur couldn't have fallen asleep in the same room as the man.

Clarence Aglain, earnest broad face in the darkest of hues, and the baldest of heads. He was dressed all in brown, and smelled not unlike marijuana. Earth science, earth magic, meditation and the tele's – telepathy and telekinesis. Arthur might never have woken, after sleeping in the same room.

George Valiant. Short, round, and plain – and dull as Merlin had said. Former head of security, glad to give it up to the young one and tend grounds. Kept a greenhouse half a mile to the west. Still inside the perimeter. Supplied Muirden's classroom – _don't tell him I said this, but isn't he creepy?_ – and, did Arthur know anything about the broken rosebushes at the front gate?

Arthur glanced through the bodies of the crowd just as Merlin looked up from his conversation with the petite young woman. They exchanged a droll lift of eyebrows that somehow served to anchor Arthur for the next wave of introductions.

Men and women, some who lived on campus and others who'd drive in daily from the community. Aside from those made memorable by Merlin's earlier comments, only two left an impression. The first was Katrina, music and computers and grammar. Nearly as old as Alice, though her chestnut hair was thick and nary a gray strand to be seen. Her manner hinted of theatrics and seduction; Arthur was amused and a little afraid.

And Merlin's shy little friend. The last one Arthur met, actually, and by their body language, Merlin had to shepherd her to the meeting.

"Arthur, this is Freya Lacosta," Merlin said. "She was a year behind me in high school here. She teaches spellcasting and shapeshifting. Oh, and geometry, since you didn't want it."

Freya was delicately pretty. Scared of Arthur, and subconsciously comforted by Merlin's presence. "It's nice to meet you," she said, extending a hand that trembled, to his touch.

"I don't bite," he said mildly.

Her mouth dropped open, startled. Merlin, who was probably fairly used to Arthur by now, grinned and teased her, "The least you can do is promise the same, right? Here – let's get food before it's all gone."

…..*….. …..*….. …..*….. …..*….. …..*…..

Freya's heart was still pounding as she took the first opportunity to slip away – Merlin as well as the new teacher being occupied with food. _Men_. Disconcerting thought, though, that some things transcended _to magic or not to magic._

She didn't care for all the teachers gathered in the room at once, nor all the smells mixing and muddying in the air. She would have preferred keeping to the fringe and escaping early, but of course she had to be introduced, or disappoint Merlin. And Gaius.

"So what do you think? He's not so bad, is he?"

Freya had ended up by the sink, leaning on the counter beside Alice, who had her hands in a sink-full of soapy water. She tipped lightly and comfortably against the plump older woman, and watched Merlin throw his head back and laugh at something the new teacher said. He was trying to keep his face straight, but humor glinted in his eyes and the set of his mouth, and Freya felt like smiling herself.

"Merlin likes him," she said.

Alice gave her a glance too swift to read more than, the older woman's deeper understanding of Freya's comment. For most things, Merlin's opinion mattered more to her than her own – that wasn't a suppression of her own personality, but an expression of her indifference, else. It was also true that Merlin didn't _like_ everyone, in spite of his free and easy treatment of their colleagues and all the students equally.

"He's very handsome," Alice said slyly, nudging Freya a little through the contact of their shoulders.

Freya rolled her eyes in response. Alice was very nearly a replacement mother to her and Merlin both, but she thought – and had for some time – that Freya should be more proactive about finding a place for love in her life. If it wasn't going to be Merlin, it should be someone else. And if it was jealousy over Freya seeing another guy that got Merlin's butt in gear… so Alice counseled.

Freya rolled her eyes because Alice didn't truly understand her connection to Merlin, and that she couldn't, and wouldn't, pretend with someone else. And not, definitely not, someone ordinary. In spite of blond hair and blue eyes and crooked grin and impossible-to-miss muscles.

"I think so," Katrina said, appearing suddenly at Alice's other side, to abandon her dirty dishes on the counter for Alice to wash. "I think he's delicious."

"And half your age," Alice said dryly, reaching to take the dishes. They shared a room; Freya sometimes wondered if all the free time Alice spent with Gaius wasn't a teeny bit, getting away from Katrina.

She wondered now if she wished the new teacher had been a female; Sefa had been a fine roommate, but shy and awkward about inadvertent shifter references. Freya thought she might envy Merlin his chance to get to know someone ordinary, who didn't seem too tense about the magic. Someone like Gwen would have been fine… She watched Merlin laugh again, clutching fork to plate with one hand to hold his ribs with the other as he always did with anything fuller than a chuckle.

"And single," Katrina added with a melodramatic swooning gesture, hand to forehead.

"You'll have to beat the girls to him," Alice predicted.

Katrina made a face and swanned away, but Freya frowned slightly. That was probably true. Hm. She said to Alice, "You think I should say a word of warning to Merlin? No telling what some of those girls will get up to…"

Alice rinsed a dish and set it on the drainboard. "Honey, that man must be used to girls throwing themselves at him by now. And you know Merlin will watch to see that he doesn't take advantage of it." Freya hummed agreement. "Gaius is winking," Alice added. "Finish these for me?"

Freya made a face. Normally she'd have done it with magic, but maybe with the new ordinary teacher in the room, she shouldn't. "Yeah, all right."

Sighing, she turned and moved sideways to the sink as Alice dried her hands on the dishtowel and departed. And jumped as someone set a stack of empty bowls and platters, tilting on their serving-ware, next to her elbow. Merlin, leaning to see her face with an engaging grin as he set one more small plastic plate down – a generous piece of Alice's cobbler.

"This is for you," he said. "I'm off to do my rounds. Are you good?" He made security patrols of grounds and buildings, morning and night, in addition to the sensors and alarms in place, that would be triggered by magic in case of emergency. Which, she gathered, happened more often here than most big inner-city schools.

She glanced over her shoulder at the room. Alice and Gaius with their heads close together over dainty glass wine-goblets in one corner, the new teacher trapped in the other by Katrina and Cory Sigan.

"You're not going to rescue your new friend?" she said, amused.

"He's a big boy." Merlin's eyes twinkled at her, happy, and she was glad to see it. "He'll be all right – I was asking about you?"

"I'll just finish these and slip out," she told him.

"All right. If I don't see you again, good luck Monday morning."

"You too," she told him seriously.


	4. Teachers and Students

**Chapter 4: Teachers and Students**

It was after midnight for the second night in a row, and his first-ever class as a teacher at nine o'clock the next morning, but Arthur found himself wakeful that night. Gwaine had messaged him, he found when he'd gotten back to the room. _So, are you still alive?_

Mostly joking. It was the _mostly_ that started Arthur thinking, though. In his bed and alone in the room, the lamp left on for his roommate, who'd left the party early – but not to return to their room, evidently. Maybe he was with Freya; she'd left about the same time.

It wasn't the two of them, though, that occupied Arthur's thoughts. Nor yet any one of the others… but all of them as a group. Magic-users, every one. And yet, only Aglain was religious about it – and only Sigan historically offended by the rest of the world. The others were just… people. He'd seen very little magic performed, the whole evening, and in fact had sometimes forgotten to think about it, or hold himself in readiness for its casual performance.

Maybe they were self-conscious, as a group, about him. There had been definite curiosity – antagonism from Sigan and proselytizing from Aglain and flirting from Katrina – but he hadn't gotten the feeling that they were used to magicking everything, and held back for the sake of his sensibilities.

Just… people. Who had a different trait, a different skill, but…

From the other room, Arthur heard the subtle sound of the lock, the latch – and then the latch again, as the door closed.

He tensed, but only a little. Figuring Merlin would use his magical keyless entry again, he'd locked it – of course anyone else could probably do the unlocking spell easily, but it was probably the sort of magic considered forbidden. Or at least rude; he'd have to search the handbook for the section on magic-use one of these days.

It was Merlin, though. He didn't turn on a light, moving stealthily to the bathroom and back – and what thief or murderous intruder goes first to use the bathroom? – but he kicked one leg of his bed-frame, maybe having already discarded shoes, and let out a breathless expletive, for Arthur to make positive identification by his voice.

"Oh – sorry – you're asleep. Are you asleep? If you were and you're not anymore, sorry about that."

"Y'all right?" Arthur slurred sleepily. Leaving it to Merlin to interpret whether he meant, about the stubbed toe, or about his absence for several hours in the evening.

"Yeah. Sorry about bailing on you. I do a security check, morning and evening…"

Arthur rolled to a more comfortable position and grunted. "So late nights are going to be routine?"

"For a while?" Merlin was changing his clothes for nightwear, by the sound of it, but Arthur didn't find the idea as awkward, today. "Beginning of the school year is always rough for the kids – sometimes the teachers – which means it's busy for me."

Arthur made a sound of interested comprehension. "So… I guess I'll see you when I see you."

"Mm. But, Arthur…" Soft, unmistakable shuffle of the younger man settling himself into bed. "If you have questions, or problems, or… anything you want to talk about, I'm here and happy to talk."

Arthur snorted a sardonic commentary on his new roommate's inclination to chattiness.

"Or to listen," Merlin added, cheerfully defensive. "I'm never too busy for that, all right?"

Because he wanted Gaius' plan to work, and the first ordinary teacher at a school of magic to have a positive experience, of course. But the offer couldn't have been more sincere.

"Thanks, I appreciate that. Good night."

"G'night." Merlin sighed and the bed creaked as he flopped over.

Then all was still. And Arthur was asleep.

…..*….. …..*….. …..*….. …..*….. …..*…..

His classroom was roughly the size of his new bedroom-living area. Student seat-and-desks in rows facing the chalkboard on the right, larger gunmetal teacher's desk in the far corner under the room's window. Predictable poster of Einstein with wild wispy hair and his tongue sticking out.

Wait a minute. Had Einstein been _magic_ , way back when? Arthur shook the tangential thought out of his mind as irrelevant.

Thirty chairs. Though his largest class was only twenty-five, and half of which were there before he was. Over-achievers? or just curious as the other teachers had been, about someone ordinary?

He made his way without comment to the desk – hearing the whispers and giggles ripple across the body of gathered students. The window looked out on the shady courtyard behind the main administrative building – and across at the windows of the students' rooms of the dorm building. He left the blinds down, and tilted to prevent direct entry of the sun's rays.

Five minutes til the bell. He busied himself with checking the desk's drawers – the previous teacher seemed a bit OCD about supplies, but that was better than messy, or empty. There was a handwritten note in the pencil-tray, _Solve each equation before assigning – don't ever keep problems with an answer of 69. Just, don't_. Arthur kept his face straight, but gave a wry thanks for the unknown previous teacher.

One minute til the bell. There was a backless stool and an overhead projector he could connect his laptop to, at the front of the room, but he lounged in the desk chair and studied his first class. And again, could gather no visual clues that they were any different from any other high school in the country. Still some whispers and giggles, a lot more sidelong glances his way, and an echo of old but familiar first-day-of-school anxiety brushed past his heart. _Hope they think I'm cool?_ he mocked himself.

Then the bell rang, a prosaic sound in an unusual place. One last student scooted through the open door, flowing into the last seat in the nearest row, head down to avoid eye contact. Arthur made an executive decision not to count tardies til the second week of school.

For a moment there was instinctive and expectant quiet, and Arthur took advantage, pushing himself up from his chair, one of the sheets from his weekly file folder in hand.

"Morning," he said, moving unhurriedly to the front of the room. Board meetings were far harder, he reminded himself – fewer people, but hard and critical and possessed of a different sort of power, proven intelligence and not-so-secretly ambition. "I know you know this, but my name is Arthur Pendragon. Mr. Arthur will do. I'm meant to begin with role call, but first let me offer condolences."

He paused, and as expected, one of the students said, "For what?"

A girl in the front row. Her blouse the color of goldenrod, cut to bare her shoulders, a gold chain wound through long blonde curls to drop a tiny crystal on her forehead. She leaned forward over her desktop – in contrast to most who slouched back in typical teenage _ennui_ – mouth dropped slightly open in breathless attention.

Hm.

"For the fact that you have Algebra Two, first thing in the morning," he told them.

The murmur of amusement relaxed them, and he took role without incident. No students missing, no administrative notes on the class. The blonde he noted as Sophia Tiermore.

"You all should have your textbooks," he said, resting on the stool and hooking one of his heels over a bottom rung. "Please open to–"

Gentle tug on cloth, soft whisper of sound, faint brush of cool air – and his fly was obviously down.

Hells, he might end up preferring the boardroom, he thought, dropping his gaze to the gap as the titters – mocking, embarrassed – hissed around the room. Can't play it casual, no-one-saw-that. Also, not an accident.

He eased up from the stool, reaching to zip his trousers – not deliberately or self-consciously – playing back the last few seconds of class-time in his head. Most of the students had looked away to dig in backpacks for the mentioned textbooks, but just before that – only one student had been looking away.

To hide that telltale gleam of gold in the eyes of the magic-user responsible.

Golden Sophia, in the front row. Unzipping his pants. Double hells.

"Thought there was a rule about that," he remarked mildly, relaxing back into position on the stool and resisting the urge to clutch his clothing more tightly in place. "No magic used on someone without their knowledge and permission."

"Wasn't used on _you_ ," someone mumbled suggestively from the middle of the crowd.

More grins and giggles. Sophia shifted her weight and _smiled_.

Arthur said, "Semantics. And, possibly, deserved." He paused to see that he had more of their attention than he might have, after a more volatile reaction. "I have to admit my own involvement in a de-pantsing incident, my sophomore year in high school."

"You lost yours, or you took someone else's?" a brown-haired boy challenged from the third row.

"Took someone else's. He wore glasses and never laughed and he was one of the least popular boys in our class." Arthur paused again, raising one eyebrow and the corner of his mouth. "He forgave me for that – and today, that boy is one of my best friends." Leon would forgive him this mention, too – contacts and soccer-muscles later, nearly unrecognizable from his early school photos. "Point being, a prank can reveal a person's character, for better or for worse. The one playing, and the one played upon."

Thoughtful murmur. Sophia was pink, and not meeting his eyes anymore.

"Tell you something else," Arthur offered. "I'm not a teacher."

Rustle of surprise. More students sitting forward over their desks, interested. Someone said, "You never taught school before?"

"Not ever," Arthur said. "I'm in the hotel business in DC, but Dr. Gaius talked me into taking the position this year so I could learn about and understand magic, and those who use it. And to allow you all the same chance in reverse. And someday other ordinary teachers and students might be welcomed to your classrooms."

Collective expression of, _huh_.

And because Arthur anticipated the question of, _didn't you know magic-users before_ , or, _what made you decide to come here_ , he redirected attention to the course-work.

"Open to page nine," he said. "The first problem – solving quadratic equations by completing the square. This should be review for you from Algebra One, for a few weeks… Double-u squared minus twenty-eight double-u is equal to negative thirty-nine."

A girl with short red hair in spikes said, with a trace of belligerence, "You haven't got the book."

"Don't need it," Arthur said. "This is my first time teaching, but math is an instinct."

Incredulous snickers. Arthur proved it by assigning each of the rest of the section's equations, randomly and by memory, and disbelief turned to grudging groans.

"Five minutes to reach your solutions," Arthur said, glancing at the clock on the back wall to see that half the period had already passed. Well, whaddya know. "Go."

The morning was grueling, and he could only hope it would get easier and less unpleasant with time and adjustment to routine. Two hours each of Algebra I and II, lunch period that he immediately decided, would be spent in his empty classroom or the teachers' lounge rather than the noisy, student-filled cafeteria. Afternoon was Government, and Calculus. And a free period.

Government was going to be difficult, he already knew after the first day; he thought he could reasonably expect daily debate, and wondered if Dr. Gaius had known that when he'd included it in Arthur's contract. He decided to start out with the second semester first – it is what it is, can't argue much with that – before getting into the history and development of the U.S. government. Then end with the final section, forming a theoretical working model – a hands-on exploratory of cause and effect.

"Hopefully we'll all learn something," he told the class in conclusion of his introduction, leaning to retrieve the folder he'd been given of overhead slides demonstrating the division of government branches and their functions.

"Hey, Merlin," several voices said.

Arthur straightened to see his roommate for the first time that day, leaning in the doorway with his arms crossed over a long-sleeve t-shirt in the school's forest green, the white oak-tree logo wrinkled and partially obscured. Black jeans buckled low over his hips, over black military boots. He grinned like a senior himself, but there was a shadow of weary strain around his eyes that Arthur recognized already.

"Hey," he responded, mostly to Arthur. "I'm interrupting?"

Yes obviously, but Arthur didn't mind. "I'm not worried about it. Something we can do for you?"

"Keep good order?" Merlin cocked an eyebrow at the class. "Don't make anything explode, or disappear…"

"I promise," Arthur drawled sarcastically, and the class responded with snickers. Which seemed to reassure Merlin on both counts, magical students and ordinary teacher dealing with a fairly controversial subject.

Merlin straightened, reaching to grip his right wrist with his left hand, the charm concealed by the cuff of his sleeve. "Gotta go," he said, cheerful but serious. "Behave, now."

And once again vanished in a puff of air, not bothering to turn and stride away.

"That happen often?" Arthur questioned indiscriminately. Shrugs, looks of boredom returning, shuffling of books and papers and writing utensils. It bothered Arthur a bit, and he added casually, "You all run him pretty ragged, huh?"

The senior students exchanged blank looks, like they hadn't really considered life from the perspective of their security officer before. The teen years were like that, Arthur remembered, very myopic emotionally.

Finally someone concluded with a shrug, "Merlin's cool."

That, Arthur had to agree with.

"Was he checking up on me, or you guys?" he joked, and the laughter was reassuringly inclusive.

…..*….. …..*….. …..*….. …..*….. …..*…..

 _(ten years ago)_

 _Morgause didn't notice the new boy right away. She rarely noticed the children that shuffled through her classroom, save for the handful with truly powerful potential._

 _The rest, all took too long to grow up and become useful. She couldn't wait that long. As the school's history instructor, she knew that Change itself already took too long, which was why she had her Plan. Why she taught in this poky school with its rigid ideals – the thought of that poky old headmaster keeping her from any classes with practical or even theoretical magic, ridiculous – why she kept her mouth shut and her smile pasted on. To catch those few with potential, and without the ordinary societal brakes of family, hopes, dreams. Ambition, though, was good._

 _Monday morning, and she was in a black mood, which probably distracted her from the invisible glow of the boy's magic. Another crop of freshmen students, and none worth a spark – which meant she'd have to wait another year and hope for next years' freshmen, and risk someone like Dr. Gaius noticing that she was gathering the young and impressionable in slightly larger numbers. If she didn't want her prize pupil – who was a senior this year - graduating and not being able to stay within her reach…_

 _Monday morning, and the students both restless and slow from the weekend free of class – and probably only half had even completed the homework. Elbow on her desk and head on her fist, she ignored the rustle and grumble of the first class finding their seats a few minutes longer than she might have, otherwise._

 _It was a numbers game, though math wasn't her subject. How many of one to make how much of the other, balanced against the likelihood of someone discovering in time to thwart her…_

 _"The assignment is written on the board," she finally snapped. "Read the chapter in your textbook and answer the questions at the end on a separate sheet of paper. In complete sentences. And have it ready to hand in by the end of the period."_

 _More shuffling and grumbling and she hated it and them, and without looking up, she shuffled her own paperwork around to take at least a cursory glance. A slender file folder, daily communication with the administration – she hated it and Dr. Gaius – and there was something new at the front._

 _An addition to her roster. New boy. Damn, another one of –_

 _Pause. That name, she knew that name, where did she know that name from… Oh. No, surely it couldn't be –_

 _She lifted her head to scan the rows of slumping teenagers half-heartedly paging through textbooks or finding loose-leaf paper, digging in their backpacks for a stray pen… and almost missed him._

 _Slender and quiet, at the back of the room, turning from the shelf where the unused curriculum was kept, with an extra textbook in hand. That shaggy black hair, that self-contained confidence, that made other people and their opinions of him utterly irrelevant. Just as she remembered his father – a tall raw-boned senior when she'd been a self-conscious underclassman. Watching him slide awkwardly into his seat and begin to page through the book, she racked her memory for other references made to that name – the military, or a gang? Balinor Emrys had been killed, she heard – or was it that he'd killed someone else?_

 _As if he sensed her gaze, the boy lifted his head and looked across the room, straight into her eyes. He didn't blush, didn't squirm or simper. Only, held the contact a moment for return evaluation, then dropped his attention completely – or so it seemed – back to the book._

 _Interesting. She wondered if he was very like his father – that glow of magic might be just exactly what she needed to set her Plan in motion. This year. She was suddenly so impatient she didn't know how she was going to get through the class period…_

 _To kill time – and from keen and genuine curiosity – she studied the information she'd been given on him. School records from some town she'd never heard of in West Virginia – a fair long distance from Lone Oak. On scholarship, so he was poor – and poor often meant, motivated to achieve, by any means. And two weeks late for the start of school… Morgause wasn't sure what to make of that. In trouble in a previous school? He'd been enrolled in several since kindergarten – mediocre grades, though that might be a toll taken due to the hardships of a military lifestyle, too._

 _Ah, father deceased. So Balinor was dead. It might have been easier for Morgause to gain his confidence if it was the mother he'd lost, but she could handle becoming the boy's surrogate-male-parent, too._

 _That magic was, she decided, worth the risk of rushing his induction into her Plan._

 _At seven minutes to the bell, she looked at him again, watched him check the book and write an answer down, his lanky boy's body huddled over the half-desk connected to the chair by a long metal arm._

 _"Merlin Emrys," she said._

 _Everyone looked up, from her back to him. She flipped her hand in a gesture for him to approach. He glanced about his work – at the clock – and shoved everything but his wrinkled answer sheet into a stiff-new school-issue black backpack. Zipping it up clumsily as he came down the aisle toward her, he tripped twice to class-wide titters that he ignored quite successfully._

 _"Welcome to Lone Oak," Morgause said over her tented fingers, in a low voice that wouldn't carry past the front row. "Your first day, is it?"_

 _"Yes, ma'am." He offered nothing beyond respectful confirmation, but watched her. It would have been almost uncanny, if he hadn't been so young – and young always meant, naïve._

 _"How are you finding us?" she said, striving to imitate her rather vague memories of her own start-of-school here, the mentors who'd tried to reach her. "Are you beginning to learn your way around? No problems with your class schedule?"_

 _He shrugged. "Can't complain."_

 _It wasn't yes. It wasn't no. It wasn't commitment and enthusiasm._

 _She added, "I imagine you must miss your family? Do you live far from here?"_

 _He shifted his gaze to something on the wall behind her, probably one of those annoyingly encouraging posters of some animal or other, cute or majestic in their virtue-embodiment. "There's really not a whole lot to miss."_

 _Again, a deflection. A non-answer that she found completely satisfactory. He wasn't a brown-noser, nor yet a delinquent, but he showed very little attachment to his family – homesickness in any form would have been impossible to hide. And a lack of awe for authority figures – though not of respectful expression – could work to her advantage._

 _"How does your magic like it here?" she asked slyly._

 _At that, an involuntary and genuine smile – quickly smothered. And oh-so-telling. He was attuned to his abilities, enough to know what she meant. Power and control – instinctive, since this was his first day here. But also, the habit of hiding – a habit that had the surprising side effect of making the hider want to reveal themselves to at least one person, so much more than someone who was naturally more open._

 _Morgause smiled. She was determined to be that one person – or at least to control, who that person was._

 _"I imagine you might find it difficult, catching up with your classes," Morgause said. The last minute was counting down to the timed bell signaling the end of the period. "Please let me know if you have any problems, or questions, anything at all. I'm happy to help, or offer advice – or even just sympathy."_

 _The bell rang, obliterating his quiet and perfunctory, "Thank you."_

 _Laying his answer sheet on a corner of her desk, he shifted the strap of his bag on his shoulder, and turned to blend in with the stream of noisy students shoving through the bottleneck of the door. Morgause turned back to the few still scrambling to pack up, among the crookedly-abandoned student seats._

 _"Gilli."_

 _The boy looked up, round foolish eyes in a round foolish face, nervous-excited at being singled out. As he always was. Predictable was easy to manipulate, in his case. He finished cramming his things into his own bag – nearly dropped it once, then tightened the drawstring and came to her desk._

 _He was a sophomore. A little older than the Emrys boy, but not suspiciously so. Also from a single-parent household, unintelligent and sneaky – which didn't endear him to his fellow classmates, but made him perfect for her purposes, though his magic was small and mean. It also made him a natural co-dependent sort of friend for the new boy._

 _"I want you to make friends with Merlin Emrys," she said to him. His face immediately scrunched in resistant unhappiness._

 _"Oh, but why?" he whined, probably disappointed that her request hadn't been more dangerous or glorious or difficult – that was what he wanted, what she'd hinted at, but never would actually trust him with. For one, because he'd always have to ask that question, rather than comprehending the motivation and purpose on his own._

 _"He has substantial magic," she told him, and watched envy flare in those close-set blue eyes. "I want him for our club, but I think he'd say no if he doesn't feel like he already has friends among our number. Get to know him, demonstrate that you care about him, and I'll let you know when the time is right to mention our club and invite him to come for a meeting."_

 _Gilli huffed, then grouched, "Yes, Ms. Morgause."_

 _He'd do it, too. He was too eager to please and too afraid of failure, not to succeed in this small thing._

 _Morgause rose to her feet behind the desk and stepped to the open door to watch down the hallway, lumpy tow-headed Gilli catching up with small slender Emrys. The black-haired head turned briefly to acknowledge the older boy's approach, but his stride through the eddying crowd didn't slow, and when he ducked out of sight down an adjacent hallway, his body language didn't invite the companionship of the bigger boy, who scrambled to follow anyway._

 _Hm. Perhaps they needed more than Gilli to entice Emrys' interest._

 _Morgause turned, searching across the sea of bobbing juvenile heads for one just as black as the new boy's, knowing from the connection she'd already forged that the one she sought was close._

 _The girl was tall for her age, as tall or taller than fully half the boys in her class, and twice as mature as any one of them. That made her critical and contemptuous of the opposite gender, and distanced her from a romantic attachment she might find more fulfilling than a place at the head of Morgause's ranks. Morgause, of course, always made her views on men perfectly clear to this young girl, which kept her in that defiant state of mind – particularly where father and brother were concerned. Father the sort of rich city bigwig Morgause was determined to make the first to go once her Plan was in full effect, and the brother more rival than ally, in the girl's eyes – older, and self-centeredly focused on his own life._

 _Seconds after Morgause turned, Morgana appeared at the bottom of the stairwell, haughtily tolerating the classmates of either gender that fluttered around her, drawn to her magic, strong but wild, to her wealth and confidence and beauty._

 _Immediately the girl's green eyes landed on Morgause, and lit with recognition of significance. Tossing some excuse to her followers, Morgana cut through the flow of human traffic carelessly and impatiently to reach Morgause's side._

 _"What is it?" she asked without preamble, propping notebook and textbook casually against her chest, emphasizing curves that promised more than she would ever deliver. Clever girl._

 _"I think I've found the last piece," Morgause declared, allowing a hint of excitement and impending triumph into the expression of her eyes and the tone of her voice. "A new boy, Merlin Emrys. Just what we need. But probably requiring a little – encouragement."_

 _"How old?" Morgana said, considering._

 _"Freshman year. I've already set Gilli to befriending him." Morgana gave her an eye-rolling grimace – for the boy himself, not the decision. "I know. But Emrys might be more suspicious of any of the others."_

 _Morgana's lips curved under make-up expertly and maturely applied. "Except for me."_

 _The girl gave Morgause a catlike smile of self-assurance that she shared, before moving off down the hall, now emptying as students ducked into their next classrooms at the last minute before the tardy-bell._

 _Now victory was assured. Emrys would never see Morgana coming til it was too late. Only a matter of time, now._

 _Mentally Morgause called up her calendar, and set to figuring out how long it was til Samhain._

…..*….. …..*….. …..*….. …..*….. …..*…..

As the week progressed, Arthur learned names and began to glimpse personalities. Not just of individual students, but of his various few classes, as disparate entities.

The freshmen in Algebra 1 were collectively more distant. Not disruptive, as he understood the younger magic-users could be, intentionally or not, but then math wasn't a disruptive subject. Usually. He didn't figure he'd pass the whole year without some kind of unexpected outburst.

The juniors in Algebra 2 were better, the first-hour group being the best of all his classes, and he shamelessly attributed that to his motivational speech on integration, on Monday. The seniors were the calmest, but also inclined to be more pointed in remarks having to do with magic vs. ordinary. And of course for the Government class – which had some of the same seniors as Calculus – pointed remarks and questions and outright criticism were kind of a requisite.

It was an emotionally trying class for Arthur, and there were moments he despaired of finishing the semester, much less the year. Perhaps he could turn the class back over to Gaius… perhaps if they all failed the first test. It was also, therefore, a busy and exhausting week. Having to adjust procedure and expectation, having to learn how to _teach_ , instead of simply demonstrating how various algebraic equations were to be solved. He responded to Leon's message, _How's it going?_ with the bare reassurance, _It's going_.

And he didn't see much of Merlin, who seemed to be even busier than he was – and more exhausted.

He caught only the barest glimpses of the realities of his roommate's life, from a couple of administrative notes – students excused from class on account of accidents that Arthur assumed were related to the use of magic they were beginners at, and being trained in, and the unprecedented proximity to others in the same unsteady boat.

Monday and Tuesday nights Arthur had watched Merlin eat dinner as he moved through the cafeteria line, leaving the room without bothering to sit down; he hadn't returned to their room either night until after Arthur had fallen asleep. Wednesday afternoon he'd walked in to find Merlin sprawled and snoring on the short-couch, alarmingly white except for purple circles around his eyes, as if he hadn't even been able to take the extra dozen steps to the other room – then Thursday morning the ketchup-and-mustard plaid bed was still made because he hadn't slept in it.

Thursday night Merlin had erupted from his bed at 3:28 – heart pounding, Arthur squinted at the digital clock on the windowsill – with a startlingly foul curse and a blast of that spicy-scented air Arthur was growing accustomed to.

Friday morning, the main room had smelled suspiciously of smoke; Merlin's clothes had been in a charred pile on the floor outside the bathroom door. The shower had been running already when Arthur got up, and though he waited patiently and considerately, it had been still running when he gave up and walked out the door to breakfast and his first class.

He wondered if Saturday would be any different, or Sunday. But to show that there were no hard feelings for Merlin hogging the shower that morning, Arthur left Merlin a note – a full sheet of notebook paper crooked across the colored files cluttering his desk, that he should be sure to notice.

 _Hey. I'm planning a short road trip to visit my sister tomorrow. I thought I'd offer you the option of riding along?_

Leon and Percival both had written him messages conveying their willingness to accompany him, and he'd declined. Not truly sure why he was asking Merlin, now, except… maybe it would help him understand his sister – sister with magic – a little better with someone who was also like her in this way, standing beside him.

He hesitated over his note, thinking of adding, _Get out of this nuthouse for awhile_ … and decided it was a little too soon for a joke like that. He also, deliberately did not remind his roommate exactly where he was going to visit his sister. Maybe a bit of a test – see if Merlin remembered the important things Arthur had told him.

In the morning, Merlin was absent like Arthur suspected he'd be – but his response was on Arthur's desk. Along with a single long-stemmed white rose that he could _not_ have had time to procure naturally.

 _Hey. I'm sorry to miss the chance, but I can't leave the school right now. My alarm-charms aren't long-distance. But you can put this by her stone on behalf of all magic-users. I bet she was great. I'm sure she'd be proud of you._

Arthur took the note and the rose and drove a little over twenty miles southwest on James Madison highway. Like Leon had said – like the photo from the investigator showed – the cemetery was small and secluded, the grave itself shady and quiet. Arthur caught the sob in his throat and swallowed it with difficulty, clearing it and brushing tears away before they could fall.

 _Morgana Dubois._

Arthur visually traced the letters of her name, as if trying to find a mistake, releasing the last hope that one had been made. But no, there were the two immutable dates defining her life; he tried to exhale his anger away so it wouldn't spoil his grief.

"Dad buried you under Mom's name," he said aloud.

The first time he'd spoken to his sister in ten years, almost exactly. In another five weeks, he'd come back here for the anniversary remembrance.

"Were you angry about that? Did you feel like he was trying to hide you, or forget about you, that he was ashamed of you?" Another possibility occurred to him. "Or did you appreciate the chance to start a new life? To be another person, with another name – to be separate from him?"

Maybe this headstone, _Morgana Dubois_ , did reflect the truth of the person she had come to be. He still had trouble picturing her with golden irises, though. It made him wonder about Merlin Emrys keeping his father's name.

"I wish you'd told me about the magic," he said. "I wish I'd known."

But that, too, must have been equally her choice; she'd never hesitated to disobey Uther before, when she disagreed with his directives. Arthur studied the stone a moment, trying to glean more from the last memories, their last correspondence, last phone call. It was the Pendragon way to hide true emotion, though he'd never been as good at it as either his father or sister. Uther was ice, and Morgana was fire – the absence of emotion and the explosion of all emotion at once, and the truth behind both, hidden from him.

And now they were both gone.

"Why did you do it?" he asked aloud. "I still don't get that. I mean, I've seen a bit of the pressure a magic-user goes through, discovering it and trying to learn to control it, but… senior year, Morgana." He'd have expected her to have a detailed twenty-year plan for her life after graduation, if not longer, by then.

He began to pace in an unfocused manner, three steps along the foot of her plot, and three back.

"This summer… I tried to find where you'd mentioned any particular friends, or even a teacher you were close to. I figured if I could find them, talk to them, I could try to understand where you were at, mentally and emotionally. But you really told me nothing, Morgana. Funny reading what I told you about Leon, and Gwaine and Percival, way back then. And embarrassing, reading about the different girls."

Some names he couldn't even put a face to. But Uther had instilled enough paranoia in Arthur, even then, that he had no regrets, sexually speaking, getting too close to something that wasn't real or lasting.

"I did get a chance to talk to Alice," he added. "Alice Manning, your school nurse? She's great – did you like her when you were there? She's smart. I didn't tell her who I was… I suppose I will sometime, but I don't want to make things awkward, and I don't think she knows me well enough to tell me things if she feels like it's betraying you…" Then again, if his sister had been close to Alice, there was no way the compassionate older woman would have let Morgana's life end the way it did. "She's the one who found you, did you know that?"

Had Morgana considered what-would-happen-next, after she was… gone? Had she cared, what it would do to whoever found her? – to their father? – to _him_?

"I asked her about the students' prescribed medication. Kept under about five kinds of lock and key, that's meant to keep anyone else from getting in. I asked if anyone else _could_ , like Gaius or Merlin or… anyone. She gave me this look… and didn't really answer." Arthur snorted. "Probably she expects I'll be trying to break into the medicine cabinet, now…

"I did manage to ask about the sorts of meds the kids might be on. You know, because that might be something I'd need to know, as their teacher." He paused, imagining her smirk to hear that. "Yes, I'm a teacher. And no, I haven't quit after the first week. Or lost any students. Anyway, it's… regrettable, the sorts of things doctors – even those more familiar with magical children – prescribe."

Antidepressants. Antipsychotics. Ritalin. He was glad that Alice used her own judgment in distribution. Stuff like those sleeping pills, though.

"But of course she wouldn't gossip about previous students. Brags a bit on the successes – anonymously – but only hints at admission to the… others. I don't imagine yours is the sole tragedy, Morgana…"

Arthur sighed again, and hunkered down on his heels, reaching to lay the white rose on the grave.

"I'm starting to be friends with a magic-user at the school. Head of security now, but went through the grades a bit after your time. I think you'd like him…" He reconsidered Merlin's irreverence, and Morgana's drama-queen persona. "That or you'd have absolutely hated him. He sent this for you, though, one magic-user to another."

It was very quiet. Countryside quiet – leaves rustling and birds. He imagined how it would be different with Merlin beside him; imagined that the younger man would feel an immediate connection to Morgana and perhaps he would feel self-conscious about speaking these things aloud, even if Merlin moved out of range of hearing. Maybe next time Merlin could come…

"I miss you," Arthur said. "Hope you're with Dad, though – and Mom, too…" The thought struck him, that Uther might have anticipated seeing his daughter as well as his wife, after his own death – and that Ygraine might have received Morgana immediately – and it comforted him. "I suppose when I feel like you'd be proud of me, I might be able to… really say goodbye."

He shuffled around til he was leaning against the side of the narrow slab of engraved granite, and simply sat and watched the scenery around him, near and far. It helped a bit to pretend that he was leaning on her shoulder, and she on his, just out of each other's peripheral vision. But the silence meant she was content and at peace, watching the world with nothing to complain about.

But it was only pretence. And he still had no real answers or understanding.


	5. Necromancy and Calculus

**A/N: I feel like I should point out something at this point that I'm afraid I've left too subtle, and which might cause confusion later on… the fact that only Gaius knows who Arthur's sister is. The others (including Merlin, Freya, Alice) only know that Arthur had a sister who was magic, and died… Morgana attended Lone Oak under her mother's maiden name, so there's no obvious connection to Arthur Pendragon…**

 **Without further ado, the significance of the title!...**

 **Chapter 5: Necromancy and Calculus**

(ten years ago)

 _Gilli hated his friend._

 _His one friend, and he hated him. Hated him for being the only one who wanted to be friends with Gilli, as for the fact that the friendship seemed genuine, at least for Emrys. Hated the weeks that had dragged by since the beginning of September, when Morgause set him this task._

 _Over the round table in the boys' dorm common area, he glared at the younger boy – younger, ef him – hunched over the textbook open on the table. Flipping a pencil held aloft between two fingers as he looked from book to page, stupid smart effing jerk. Studying, when most of the other boys were blowing off schoolwork in favor of starting Halloween celebrations early – therefore Gilli had to at least pretend to do some of his own, also._

 _Gilli wanted to straddle Emrys' slender awkward-graceful body with his own heavy, chunky, weak, white form and feel him squirm and struggle as he squeezed the life out of his skinny throat and he'd scratch Gilli's hands and forearms and it would sting but oh, it would be effin' satisfying and then Emrys' eyes would glow golden fire but Gilli would be more powerful at last because he'd taken that life and breath and magic and –_

 _"Are you nervous about tonight?"_

 _He blinked and met the blue of Emrys' eyes, under the fringe of black hair over his forehead, still only inches from the book on the table. He said stupidly, "Huh?"_

 _"You had this look on your face…" Emrys said. Behind and around them, the other boys talked and laughed, joked and cussed each other out, but Emrys was one hundred effin' percent focused on Gilli, tons of stupid inexplicable emotion brimming in his eyes. He went on, "When I think about it, what she said – I think about it all the time – I don't know whether to be excited or – scared shitless."_

 _Stupid Emrys even sounded cool, swearing. Gilli just sounded stupid when he tried, even though he was older._

 _"Do you want to go early?" Emrys added, closing his book without looking, as if anticipating Gilli's response – and he hated when his friend did that. Hated because he was usually right. "You said Ms. Morgause wanted to meet somewhere different, tonight? Or do you just want to skip?"_

 _"Yeah… fine… if you want to. Go early, I mean. We can't skip on Halloween, you know that."_

 _Gilli stuffed books, papers, pens into his own backpack, worn and brown and sewn with pink thread at one shoulder-strap, stupid compared to the one Emrys had, new and black, school-issue because old Dr. Gaius had effin' adopted Emrys. Or tried, at least, he thought, snickering at the thought of this strange skinny freshman shrugging off the attention of the portly school headmaster._

 _"I can run yours back to your room, too?" Emrys offered, his whole body swaying to counter the weight as he slung his backpack over one shoulder – then reached for Gilli's, too. "Just wait for me, all right?"_

 _He nearly didn't. He went all the way to the downstairs door, just for the pleasure of having Emrys chase after him – before he remembered Emrys didn't know where they were meeting; Gilli was supposed to bring him, anyway. If he showed up alone… he couldn't bear to think of the look on Ms. Morgause's face._

 _And, Emrys was a lot better at bypassing the school alarm than he was. Effin' curfew._

 _"Wait up, I said!" Emrys exclaimed, softly, clattering in the stairwell._

 _Quietly breathless because he'd been running – a fast runner, too, ef him – but not at all offended. Stupid jerk – nearly impossible to offend him, and then he forgave too, right away. He waved a careless hand at the lockbox – the crash bar depressed on its own and the normally-creaky door swung open silently._

 _Emrys' grin shone wide and brilliant in the building's orange outside lights. "Let's go?"_

 _Gilli stomped outside, down the sidewalk, onto the lawn, into the woods. Emrys trotted easily at his side, even when Gilli started breathing harder from the exertion. Usually they met in a clearing, close enough to see the small side parking lot between the dorms and the headmaster's cottage, close enough to see the lantern on the hill – but tonight Gilli led his friend through and past the clearing._

 _No sound of any of the others near them, either – though Gilli had no desire to wait for company, nor they for his – maybe because they were early. Had Emrys guessed they had farther to go? and that Gilli might need extra time to get there? well, ef him too._

 _"Do you ever get the feeling," Emrys said, not out of breath at all, ef him, "that Ms. Morgause says more than she says? Or I mean, that she means more than she says?"_

 _"What?" Gilli said, again feeling stupid. Stupid jerk friend, to make him feel stupid._

 _"When she talks about being an active support for each other, and only trusting those with magic, and making sure we can live safely and peacefully in our world, doing whatever makes us happy without being afraid. I don't get why that, means we've got to be sworn secret from the rest of the school. From Gaius."_

 _Oh, on such familiar terms with the old man. Just like the way Morgana addressed Ms. Morgause – and Gilli didn't dare._

 _"It's because the old man is a scaredy-cat," he said. "He wants us all to hide like jackrabbits in our burrows, and when one of us gets killed, it's fine because the rest are safe. Ms. Morgause thinks the rest of the world is ready to understand and accept us, so we need to stop hiding and let them."_

 _Emrys only grunted._

 _Gilli wondered, briefly, what the other boy's hometown was like, if anyone there knew about him, and what they thought. No one but Gilli's father knew about him, Gilli's magic was so small and weak but his father was a scaredy-cat too and made him come all the way out here to this effing school so no one at his old school would ever know. And none of his old friends had ever even emailed him back. His father couldn't afford the plane tickets to bring Gilli home for holiday breaks and summer, so he hadn't even been able to visit them in nearly a year and a half._

 _"How far are we going?" Emrys said._

 _Gilli begrudged him the breath for an answer, but the younger boy didn't sound put out when he went on._

 _"I haven't been this far from the school yet, what's out here?... Hang on, I see something. There's fire up ahead – tiki torches?"_

 _Gilli snorted at the ridiculous thought; Emrys prattled on, but he didn't sound like he was smiling anymore._

 _"I see Ms. Morgause – I think that's Morgana next to her, but… are those headstones? Is this a graveyard? Gilli, are you sure… I don't think we belong here, do we? Not on Halloween…"_

 _Gilli crashed gracelessly through the last brush onto the shorter grass of the old cemetery, kept neat mostly for tourists, since no one had been buried here for a century and a half. "It's a – Confederate cemetery," he huffed impatiently. "No one's going to bother us."_

 _He shuffled his way across the area, avoiding the mossy, indecipherable stones. This dude from this state, this dude from this state, War of Northern Aggression and all dead because they wanted to keep slaves. Stupid effin' jerks. He ignored the fact that all the victors in that war were dead, and their children, too. And the slaves._

 _Ms. Morgause was in conversation with Morgana; both looked up at his approach – and he realized that Emrys' footsteps had stopped. Hoping the younger boy hadn't changed his mind and retreated, he paused and turned – just as Morgana called to them in her seductively melodic voice._

 _"Hello, Merlin."_

 _Gilli, stupidly in the middle and looking back and forth between them as they drew closer together – ignoring him, he thought, til Morgana gave him an arch smile._

 _"Hello, Gilli."_

 _Her flawless skin was dusky-white in the torchlight, lips dark and perfect. Skinny jeans and a tight-fitting pseudo-sports shirt with white stripes on the sleeves that fairly gleamed. Gilli felt stupid in his dark-green polo, but Emrys didn't look like he felt the least self-conscious in his old ratty gray t-shirt with ARMY on the front in black letters. Even though he'd confided to Gilli with a fiery blush, that he thought Morgana was the prettiest girl in school. Stupid jerk. Obviously. That she was the nicest and smartest – Gilli had stopped listening, knowing that Morgana's interest was in Merlin's magic, duh, powerful and instinctive and ef him._

 _"You're early," Morgana added, with another smile – for Emrys, and she reached for his hand to bring him out of his reluctance, to Ms. Morgause who was waiting._

 _Emrys threw Gilli a rueful, sorry-about-this smile over his shoulder as Morgana did not also take Gilli's hand, pudgy and sweaty, but it dropped very quickly into a nervousness that was unusual for the younger boy. Indifference, was the emotion Emrys wore like armor – Gilli envied that and wanted to be capable of it and wasn't, and so hated him._

 _But it was interesting, seeing Emrys nervous, so Gilli watched him, though Morgana paid him attention and kept him close by Ms. Morgause's side – as she watched the fringe of the woods for others joining them. Because of course Gilli couldn't just walk up and start talking to Morgana. She was a senior, and gorgeous and powerful, and didn't say Ms. or Dr. Her family was rich._

 _And when everyone was there, giggling and nervous too, mostly, Emrys ended up between Morgana, and Ms. Morgause. Gilli sidled closer, because after all, Emrys was his friend. Ignoring the teacher's welcome speech and opening remarks for the club meeting – the same, almost always – he watched Emrys twitch and glance over his shoulder into the graveyard darkness. Gilli snickered to himself._

 _"And now," Ms. Morgause pronounced, catching his attention after all, "we finally have the one we've waited for. The power of magic to make all our dreams of safety and security possible, and it starts tonight with our two young friends. Morgana, if you please?"_

 _The gorgeous senior gave the whole circle a confident superior smile – squeezed Emrys' hand with another more private one – and stepped with Ms. Morgause to the center of their gathering. Gilli shuffled closer to take Emry's hand as the circle of teenagers closed – he'd wanted to take Morgana's hand, even as he feared what she'd think of the state off his – and the pimply-faced girl next to him ignored him._

 _"Now, you've all sworn a very serious promise to each other," Morgause reminded them, looking around. "To support and protect one another, to use your magic for and with each other. Promises you signed in blood –"_

 _Gilli sighed over the theatricality of it, and hissed to make Emrys stop squeezing his hand, ef him –_

 _"Which will make tonight's work easier. Now it might feel unusual to you – don't be afraid. The more unpleasant particulars of the experience will vanish from your memories within the hour." Ms. Morgause's lips curved sardonically. "I promise."_

 _"What are you going to do?" Emrys spoke. Unusual for him – for anyone – but Ms. Morgause didn't seem upset at the uninvited question, or the interruption, though she didn't exactly answer._

 _"We, Merlin. We," she reminded him archly. "Everyone ready? You may wish to close your eyes, to concentrate more fully."_

 _Gilli tucked his chin, glancing sideways at Emrys - who kept his eyes open. So Gilli did, too._

 _Ms. Morgause gestured with a flourish, and a slender length of bark-wrapped tree branch sprang up from the ground to her hand. She turned to give her full attention – and a challenging smile – to Morgana, who answered in kind. "The decisions you make now will change the shape of everything that is to come, so I'm going to require you to pledge your loyalty and magic anew. Whose side are you on? Are you with me?"_

 _"I am," Morgana said, firmly and clearly._

 _"Wait." Emrys was trying to tug away from Gilli's hand; perversely he squeezed back to keep it, and no one else paid the two of them any attention._

 _Ms. Morgause dropped one end of her rude staff to the ground and stepped slowly around Morgana, repeating the words of some spell – Gilli had no idea what, he wasn't smart and so there was no point to paying attention in class when he wouldn't remember anyway - that made the circle glow blue._

 _Morgana watched it form, smiling and not moving – until the circle closed. Then she dropped, unconscious._

 _It was so unexpected, Gilli jumped._

 _"No, stop!" Emrys exclaimed, trying unsuccessfully to extricate his hands; Gilli thought maybe he was the only one to hear._

 _Ms. Morgause had caught Morgana easily, and lowered her to a curled position within the circle of glowing blue. And when she stood, her eyes were on Emrys – her chin down and teeth gleaming in a way that scared Gilli and reminded him why he always stayed on the teacher's good side – before she flung her arms skyward and called out a second spell._

 _Emrys cried out also, a sound of pain rather than triumph, tipping his chin up in an abrupt and involuntary way._

 _And blue fire exploded from his chest, lapping down the ragged gray t-shirt, down his bare skinny arms. Gilli glimpsed it leaping to the boy on Emrys' other side half a second before it reached him._

 _It felt like… the one time he'd gone to a planetarium. Sat in a comfortably-padded seat and leaned back and looked up at the universe – close enough to touch and he weightless and in control, the owner of each and every star and planet and constellation. Magic expanded within him, throbbing golden music in all his favorite songs at once. Rippled through a tanned, muscular, graceful body. Pure effin' confidence that grew and grew and grew…_

 _Til he felt uncomfortably swollen. And the pimply girl beside him was sobbing._

 _And then the magic exploded, outward from all of them at once – and a strange sort of dark undertow back-washed into Morgana's motionless body, prone in the center of the circle. And winked out._

 _Gilli panted and trembled and blinked all the stars in the sky out of his eyes. Several of his classmates around the circle had collapsed into a crouch, arms swinging stuck in the next person's grasp._

 _Tears glittered on Emrys' face – white face, dark eyes – and he whispered, "What have you done."_

 _Ms. Morgause didn't answer, just looked around the circle – outside their circle – with a wild sort of anticipation. "How many? How many are there?"_

 _The ground shifted slightly underfoot, like the one earthquake Gilli had ever felt. He heard a rusty screeching sound that echoed from the old headstones, like loose floorboards under carpeted stairs, but magnified, coming from every direction at once._

 _Ms. Morgause was counting. "Two, three… five… six… seven. Only seven? This is your fault, Emrys, if you hadn't resisted, there would be more…"_

 _Gilli heard footsteps – heavy, hesitating, and uneven – had someone followed them? Discovered them? He turned to look over one shoulder –_

 _Just as Ms. Morgause added, "Well, I suppose I'll have to make do with seven."_

 _Into a skull. Eyeless, the jaw mashed down and sideways, skin only parchment over the bone. No nose, long grinning yellow teeth –_

 _Upright… walking…_

 _Gilli felt his bladder release. He was not the only one screaming._

 _Ms. Morgause made an impatient sound – an impatient gesture, and –_

 _Gilli blinked, glaring at his one friend across one of the round tables in the boys' dorm common area. Had he fallen asleep? His jeans were cold and wet at the crotch, in his seat, down his legs, and he knew what had happened._

 _"You bastard," he said to Emrys, the word sounding stupid and clumsy, like it was the first time he'd ever said it. Which it was, but it sounded it. "I fell asleep and you – you got a bowl of warm water for my hand, didn't you."_

 _He pushed to his feet – the whole room laughing and laughing at him and he'd call his dad and demand to go home and swear never to use effin' magic again. And rounded the table._

 _Emrys was dead-white and shaking on his feet, eyes dark pits like bruises and gripping the back of his chair to remain upright. His fear made Gilli feel strong for the first time – if only his friend, ef him, hadn't totally humiliated him in front of everyone else already._

 _"You don't remember any of it, do you," Emrys gasped. "Oh, hell – you don't remember…"_

 _Gilli punched him in the stomach. As hard as he could – which probably wasn't hard enough, as mad as he was and as shapeless as he was._

 _But the younger boy doubled over retching – fell to his knees and threw up on the carpet – it had probably seen worse, but magical cleaning left no stains, and wouldn't this time, either._

 _"You stay the hell away from me from now on," Gilli instructed him self-righteously. Feeling a lot more Chris Farley than Vin Diesel, and he hated Emrys for it._

 _And left him doubled up next to his own vomit in a roomful of guffawing teenage boys who didn't like the new kid anyway – he had no other friends either and Gilli was viciously glad that it was in his power to take himself away as Emrys' one friend. He hated him, anyway._

 _Although… how had his backpack gotten into his room on its own?_

 _Gilli shrugged and slammed the door. Hoping the laughter would stop soon because he was tired and wanted to sleep and still had to clean himself up. And he'd miss out on the best of the Halloween candy, too._

 _Effin' Emrys._

…..*….. …..*….. …..*….. …..*….. …..*…..

The second week was little different than the first. Merlin was around their shared room a bit more, though he was usually catching up on sleep. They snatched five or ten minutes at several cafeteria mealtimes to exchange a how's-it-going, before the younger man was off again – though not every time because of a wrist-glowing emergency.

Saturday morning, however, when the security officer was again gone before Arthur woke, he expected the weekend would be no different than any of the school-days. He kicked the comfortable old recliner in their living area back, determined to practically memorize the section on magic in the student-teacher handbook. Halfway through page 3, he was surprised when the door opened and Merlin sauntered in. Not in a hurry, for the first time since… hm, since Arthur had known him?

Arthur watched him yawn and rumple his hair; today he wore jeans and a blue flannel open over a red t-shirt, rather than his slightly less informal school-issue shirt and black. Merlin let the door shut behind him and collapsed back onto the middle of the couch.

Then grinned at Arthur.

Who said, a greeting and a question, "What's up?"

"You, finally." That smile was pure impudence, and Arthur didn't mind it at all. "You are very fond of your bed, aren't you?"

"You're just jealous," Arthur retorted, taking his cue from the younger man and letting the jibe pass without taking it personally. "You have only a passing acquaintance with yours."

"It's true," Merlin agreed mournfully. "Any time I have a chance to visit, I fall asleep too quickly to appreciate it."

Arthur wondered if it was an appropriate time to ask after the nature of his roommate's relationship with young Miss Lacosta, probably the only teacher he saw even less of, than Merlin. Her classroom was on the first floor, just past the stairwell, so he had no occasion to simply walk by and glance inside. But there had been no sign of _that_ sort of delay or absence from Merlin – or that she had been inside their room, at all.

But Merlin went on. "You're working? Have you got a lot of it today?"

"Not really." Arthur lifted the handbook so he could see the cover. Merlin understood – even though Arthur couldn't do magic, he could still learn about it.

"Ah. Are you having any problems, specifically, that I could help you with?" he added, pushing himself to the front edge of the couch cushions and leaning forward over his knees.

Arthur hesitated. Because the truthful answer was _yes_ and _probably_.

Yesterday's Calculus quiz. Graded last night, and finished this morning. And half the class had aced it except for the last answer. Which had been a trick question, a concept they hadn't covered yet – and which that half of the class' papers had showed the same wrong answer for.

The odds against that happening innocently and naturally were… absurd. So Arthur was looking in the handbook for clues as to _how_ the students might have accomplished this, widespread cheating and he hadn't had the slightest inkling, through the whole quiet, studious class period. It was not something he wanted to take to Gaius, not on circumstantial evidence, and he cringed to think of either himself or the old headmaster standing before the class on Monday and demanding answers. Or calling each student in for a private conference and expecting – hoping? – one to rat on the others… Which would probably ruin any credibility or rapport he might otherwise have earned with them, the rest of the year. And the ill feeling might spill over into the Government class and that would result in… a catastrophic implosion of that class.

But hesitating had already told Merlin _yes_.

"You're busy." It was a lame excuse, and they both knew it.

"I said I'm just as happy to listen as I am to talk," Merlin said. "What is it?"

Arthur still wasn't convinced he wanted to need someone else's help. He twitched a wordless shrug, and gestured to the stack of corrected quiz papers on the corner of the desk. Merlin pushed himself up and retrieved them, glancing through at a shuffle – slowing, going back – recognizing Arthur's problem in a minute. Which in itself spoke to his ability to offer advice, Arthur reflected, relenting a little.

"They cheated," Merlin commented, flipping pages more slowly - back, then forward.

Arthur resisted the urge to fire some sarcasm back, including the words _genius_ or _Einstein_ , or _Sherlock_. Instead he only said, with a belligerence that was rooted in impatience with himself, "I don't know _how_."

"Hm." Merlin freed one of the pages and flourished it at Arthur, smiling triumphantly.

"What?"

"Mordred's in your class," Merlin said, tapping his finger on the name at the top of the page, as if that explained everything. Arthur let him know what he thought of that with a look and a rude gesture, and Merlin explained, "He's telepathic. Did you have the answer key with you? He'd have read your mind for the answers, and told everyone else silently."

Arthur breathed once, deeply in and tiredly out.

"It's probably not _you_ ," Merlin added. "I mean, it's probably not that he's defying you personally. Mordred is just… Mordred."

"So what am I supposed to do?" Arthur said. "There's no evidence because I can't possibly hope to _catch_ him at it."

"I could make you a charm like one of these," Merlin offered, touching the inside of his wrist, then setting the sheaf back in place on Arthur's desk. "So that you'll know when anyone is doing magic in your vicinity – the range of your classroom, say."

Arthur considered. The enormity of what Merlin was really offering him. And what message it would send, if he were to accept, and then wear, and then use it.

"No," he said. "Thanks, but… no."

"Well, then…" Merlin looked away, thinking – then reached back to flip the corner of the stack where the students had written their names. "Have you got a seating chart for this class, by any chance?"

"It's in the folder right under that stack."

Merlin peeled back pages, folder cover, and removed the relevant chart. Biting a fingernail pensively, he dropped to the edge of the couch again, frowning and holding what appeared to be an abbreviated internal discourse. Almost Arthur could have found him laughable, except that he was so… earnest.

"This is what you could do," Merlin finally said – and that triumph was back. "Reorganize by first name, in reverse alphabetical order – that'll put Mordred in the front row by your desk. And the girl right beside him, Molly Shea? She's a natural block for telepathy, so if he wants to cheat, he'll have to go ordinary and pass notes or steal answer keys."

"I still have to deal with _that_ ," Arthur pointed out, referring to the tainted quiz.

"Give 'em a new one after the seating change." Merlin shrugged. "If I was you, I wouldn't even mention it. Switch your other classes the same way, and leave all these-" he pitched the chart onto the stack of quizzes – "wondering if you're onto them, or not."

He refrained from saying, but Arthur recognized another possible outcome – the fact that they'd respect being outsmarted, far more than they'd respect being caught and punished. Maybe it wasn't justice, but it might be a solution to the deeper core problem.

"I'll – think about it," he allowed grudgingly. "Thanks, actually – I thought I might spend the rest of the day tearing my hair out over this."

"Well, we can't have that," Merlin said, cheerfully sly. "Think of the mess! And how ugly you'd be!"

Arthur snorted, pleased rather than otherwise that his roommate felt comfortable enough with him to exchange insults. "What about you?" he ventured, relaxing back and thumbing the pages of the handbook absently. It wasn't boring reading, at least. "Have you got to pay to replace your desk if it collapses under your files?"

That was an exaggeration; the stack was only five inches high, but the bright colors and constant disarray made it seem like more. Merlin snorted, shoving himself back to the depths of the couch.

"Or _I_ could just fix it." He wiggled his fingers in a mocking parody of what Arthur had done to demonstrate _magic_ , the first night they met. Then dropped his hands to his lap and thumped one heel disconsolately, staring behind Arthur at his desk under the window.

"What are those, anyway?" Arthur asked, swiveling the chair to better see Merlin's desk.

"Students," Merlin answered, and Arthur again refrained from forming a sarcastic comment. A moment later, Merlin revealed more – making Arthur's restraint worth his while. "Students who can't, or won't, control their magic. I mean, everyone comes here with issues…"

He cut his eyes back toward Arthur, who nodded.

"Did you ever wonder?" Merlin asked quietly. "When you were a kid? Whether you'd wake up one day in middle school smashing bus windows with a thought or levitating all the badminton shuttlecocks in P.E.?"

Arthur didn't smile. Because if Merlin hadn't done those things himself, he probably knew someone who had. And while it might be funny in retrospect, those situations had probably been terrifying for everyone involved. One of the reasons the persecution had been so active, up until a handful of decades ago.

"Honestly?" he said. "I hoped I wouldn't."

Merlin blew a sarcastic breath through his nostrils. "You're smarter than you look."

"But…" Arthur added quietly, "maybe it's not such a stretch to think I could put myself in the shoes of any one of these kids?"

Merlin's smile lost a measure of bitterness. "The teen years are hard for everyone. Poor kids more so than rich kids. Single-parent families more so than double. And minorities, even more so. But magic isn't like… anything else. It's not something people see immediately when they look at you, from the moment you're born, and your family shares the traits all together. So when people find out, it's like… they think you were trying to hide it, and don't trust you. But if you come right out and say, I can do magic – there's reaction. People are scared and defensive. People think maybe you're one of the pushy ones, one of the flashy, edgy, demonstrative ones. And then… they don't trust you. I mean, by and large, I don't want you to think I'm prejudiced in reverse, but… I've seen it. And magic isn't a choice either, you have it or you don't, and if you do, it's going to come out, like it or not."

Arthur murmured thoughtful agreement. That was maybe what he'd been seeing in his freshman classes, that resentment that hadn't yet changed into acceptance – and in only a few very of the more level-headed seniors, pride. Maybe that took confidence in control and skill, a definite idea of ambition for the future. He imagined someone like Alice Manning, who used her magic for healing, would be respected in her field and even find that magic gave her an advantage.

That prompted him to wonder, "I suppose they teach this in beginner's classes, but is some magic innately good, and some bad, or is it all neutral, or what?"

Merlin shoved himself deeper into the couch, crossing his arms over his chest. "Most is neutral. It depends on the use and the user. Like me using teleportation to get where I'm needed immediately, rather than using it to rob banks, or something." Arthur snorted derisively at the idea, and Merlin freed a hand to point at him. "That's the first thing people think when they find out someone can do that."

"Okay, okay. No bank robbing," Arthur said. "You said _most_ …?"

"Well, some is intrinsically good. Like many of Alice's healing spells. Or the magic used to grow things."

Arthur thought of torture, those nebulous experiments Merlin had alluded to. Complete and immediate healing would aid and exacerbate those situations… and then he couldn't help thinking of the thorn forest in the cartoon Sleeping Beauty. Maybe Merlin didn't have enough imagination for the possibilities of evil – or maybe Arthur had too much.

"But some is inherently evil?" he said curiously. "Like what?"

Merlin's gaze went through Arthur, through the wall, far away – before he turned absently toward the window. For a moment Arthur wasn't sure he was going to answer – for another moment he was aware of their differences as _magic_ and _ordinary_ , and wondered if he was asking Merlin to trust him too much.

Then Merlin said, with contemplative preoccupation, "I think… the worst I've seen is… necromancy."

Arthur felt his eyebrows shoot up, but his reaction didn't seem to catch Merlin's attention – which seemed to have gone back to whatever memory blanked out his habitual expressiveness.

"Is that _possible_?" Arthur said, incredulous.

"It's rare. Because it takes an enormous amount of power, and a certain kind of unscrupulous personality to wield it."

Arthur thought, _Dragonlords_. And said, with another kind of thought that hadn't yet approached hope, "But it can be done, to bring the dead back to life?"

Merlin looked at him – and oddly, Arthur wondered what he saw. The myriad of immediate emotions, maybe – or just that Arthur wasn't quite sure what to think about an issue that Merlin had clear opinions about already.

"Not truly," he said. "They're little more than re-animated corpses. Decomposition is suspended but not reversed, they need neither food nor sleep, and they do little more than fulfill the commands of the necromancer. Undead and undying, they leach energy and sustenance first from the necromancer's own magic, but then necessarily from living people they kill, since a magic-user cannot support such a large and constant drain on their own life-force."

Spoken in a manner and tone that was clinically detached. Arthur wasn't sure whether that was better, or worse – he couldn't discount any of Merlin's words as exaggerated sensationalism. He couldn't mock; he couldn't disbelieve.

"You said," he spoke unsteadily, "that you'd _seen_?..."

Merlin blinked.

And _completely_ changed the subject. "I forgot what I was going to ask you when I came in. If you wanted to do that tour we missed out on, last weekend? I haven't actually done morning rounds yet, but on the weekend sometimes I let it slide a few hours…"

It was Arthur's turn to stare at his roommate. To remember that there was much more to him than light-hearted teasing or sincere dedication to his job – and to accept that it wasn't all going to come out in one day. If ever. Not that Arthur wanted it to, either; he recognized that he could probably handle these revelations about magic-kind in fewer and smaller doses, as Merlin felt ready to share. And at this point, Merlin might not be sure that Arthur wouldn't gossip about this to his ordinary friends – with potentially disastrous results.

He wondered if, even now, Merlin regretted baring such a stark truth, and sought to reassure him in a palpable way. "Sure, I'll walk with you."

"You could do with the exercise," Merlin observed as Arthur climbed out of the depths of the recliner. "They do say teachers sometimes spread in the posterior region, from all the sitting –"

Arthur pitched the handbook at him as he passed into the bedroom for his shoes. Merlin ducked, and blocked, and snickered as the pages fluttered ineffectively at his raised forearms.

"You really sure you want me?" Arthur called in retaliation, propping his feet on the edge of Merlin's bed to tie them. "Thought you'd want to spend your free time with Miss Lacosta."

"Freya?" Merlin said, as Arthur came into the room – and there was no blushing or stammering like Arthur would expect from a romantically-inclined Merlin. "No, she went into town today. Best friends with the gal who owns the best café in Culpeper, and not even two miles away. I'll take you sometime."

Well, maybe Arthur was off the mark, and his new roommate and the petite brunette were only good friends and former schoolmates. He followed Merlin out the door, and down the stairs.

"The café owner is magic?" he asked idly.

"Nope." Merlin rounded the landing, started down the second set of stairs.

Arthur followed more slowly, considering. "So it's not all ordinary folks that makes her nervous, but only men?"

"It's not you." Merlin pushed through the outside door, holding it for Arthur, and headed for the classroom building, his head on an alert swivel.

Arthur did the same, though he saw nothing but early-autumn countryside. Rich green grass – the photos didn't lie – spots of color from the rosebushes George Valiant seemed to prefer.

"Freya lost her parents and two older brothers to a hurricane," Merlin continued, reaching the side door of the classroom building and holding it open again for Arthur, who reflected that it felt a little odd to be the attendant; it was yet another reversal from his life in DC. Merlin named the coastal storm, and Arthur remembered it as a particularly nasty one, twelve or so years ago – eleven and a half? – with a fatality count that almost made records. "Her magic saved her life in a… rather shocking way, but she was on her own for quite awhile before she came here."

"And you've been friends ever since?" Arthur guessed.

Merlin nodded. "Pretty much… So you've seen these halls, and all the classrooms are more or less the same…"

He took the stairs two at a time; Arthur ducked to see inside Freya's unremarkable room before following. He couldn't imagine the trauma of a young girl bereaved of her entire family in a sudden accident. Add to that the discovery of magic with no one to sympathize or guide properly, and the stress and dangers of life as an underage runaway. And maybe Merlin was entirely oblivious to her feminine charms – but if not, Arthur had to give his roommate credit for not crowding the girl with attention in years past.

"This is the library," Merlin said, taking the corridor on the wing adjacent to where Arthur's classroom was, and across from the far end of the cafeteria. Midmorning, the only noise was voices and the clatter of cookware from the kitchen.

Arthur followed Merlin, unlocking the locked-for-the-weekend door; handy to have magic rather than carry a huge ring of keys. Inside, only the floodlights were on, dimly illuminating four small circular tables, and tall double-sided stacks of bookshelves receding into the gloom of the far wall – shared with the gym, Arthur knew from Merlin's napkin-map. It was quiet and restful. And smelled peculiar, in a quiet and restful way – better than Arthur remembered the library being in the high school he'd graduated from. Merlin's hands were on his hips and he surveyed the room with contented satisfaction.

"Why are we checking here?" Arthur prompted him.

Merlin gave him an impish smirk. "Dark and locked doesn't always mean what you think it means, in a school of magic. That's why I have to check personally."

"But your alarms didn't go off." Arthur reached to flick the side of Merlin's wrist.

The grin was joined by a quirked eyebrow. "There's ways around that, too. _I_ should know."

" _You_ were a bad kid?" Arthur teased with an exaggerated tone of surprise.

Merlin shrugged. "Just didn't see the point of obeying every rule implicitly when I had something better to do…"

"Like what?" Arthur said curiously.

"There," Merlin said, pointing to an open area of carpet between the last freestanding row and the bookshelves lining the wall, with the air of changing the subject. "Is where I used to sit on the floor and read fiction during Latin class. When they taught Latin in the library."

And Arthur could see it. Lanky frame bowed over the book, bony knees sticking out to the sides. Aloud he said, " _Latin_?"

Merlin shot him another mischievous grin. "Don't sound so surprised – it helps with learning spells. And anyway, I just said I used class-time for reading."

"It helps with the spells?" Merlin shifted to exit the library and Arthur followed, loitering as the head of security passed an empty hand two inches in front of the mechanism to lock the door again. "I've never heard you say one."

"Um, yeah…" Merlin headed down the hallway toward the gym. "Freak among freaks, I told you."

"Does that mean…" Arthur hesitated to say, _you're really strong_.

But Merlin was passing through the double doors into the gym, faintly illuminated with the natural sunlight coming through narrow frosted windows at the very top of the high walls. Arthur was distracted, looking around before he realized he was looking for any indication of magic, and there wasn't any. Bleachers, scoreboard, wire-basket cover on fixtures. Polished floor with taped boundaries, basketball goals lifted toward the ceiling because they were not in use.

He cast a glance around, seeing no cause for alarm, but Merlin's attention focused, and he strode right out onto the polished court, combat boots notwithstanding. Arthur followed him, holding his breath to strain his ears; Merlin seemed to use a different sense entirely, eyes unfocused and head tipped. He turned slightly toward Arthur; then spoke – not loudly, but clearly enough to reach even the far corners.

"Take down the shield – or I will."


	6. Relationships, Genius and Species

**Chapter 6: Relationships, Genius and Species**

 _"Take down the shield – or I will."_

For a moment nothing happened.

Arthur couldn't detect the presence of another person, and wondered what Merlin would do if he wasn't obeyed. He hadn't actually witnessed any of the incidents demanding the time and attention of the school's security officer, and he had to admit to a certain degree of trepidation in addition to curiosity.

A flicker of motion caught his attention, and he shifted to see past Merlin, two students seated at the top row of the bleachers on one side of the gym. Seated _very_ close together, and Arthur cringed to imagine what they'd been doing that required both solitude and a shield of invisibility – which impressed him as both an advanced and a forbidden-outside-the-classroom type of magic.

"Come on," Merlin added, in the tone of a longsuffering and responsible older brother.

The girl was up first, stomping down the bleachers to make the most noise possible. She wore a zip-front shirt, and played with the pull of it; her straight brown hair was done in several knots all over her head, spraying spiky ends like miniature fireworks. As she drew closer, Arthur saw that there were blue streaks darkening her natural brunette color, and more than one glint of facial piercings.

The boy followed, slow and sullen, and Arthur recognized him from the senior class. He wasn't tall, but Arthur had the impression that he'd finished growing a couple of years ago; what muscle there was under the long-sleeve tee was maturely developed. His dark hair was almost girlishly long, and curled, and his thumbs emerged from ragged holes between his cuffs and sleeves. Electric blue eyes pierced Arthur accusingly. Mordred was one of the few who stayed over in his classroom from Calculus to Government, though he had yet to offer opinion or argument – and evidently cheated telepathically.

"Nosy," the girl muttered as she reached the gym floor.

"You know the rules," Merlin said mildly, approaching them to prevent her turning to flounce through the exit. Arthur stepped closer also.

"Just because _you_ never get laid," she retorted.

Arthur couldn't quite stop his eyebrows from lifting for his hairline.

Merlin didn't react. "Those rules are there for good reason," he said, the soul of wry sympathy. "To protect your best interests, always, whether you see it now or not."

"And my virginity, no doubt," the girl sneered.

Completely without self-consciousness, though even if this issue was a long-standing one, Arthur was still a stranger, an adult and a man. The long-haired Mordred stared at him, unblinking and unrepentant.

"Kara," Merlin said, "it's still statutory –"

"No one cares but you," she interrupted him.

"And I know you don't want Mordred in trouble, any more than Mordred wants you pregnant and dependent." Merlin shifted his focus to meet the boy's eyes. Mordred said nothing, but his lip curled and Merlin stiffened slightly on a sudden but quiet inhalation. "That is not an option, much less a solution," he said, quiet but firm. "You can enjoy each other's company fully clothed on school grounds, and wait for an appropriate time – cough-graduation-cough – to take your relationship any further."

Mordred scoffed, but said nothing. Arthur thought suddenly – _telepathy_. Wasn't that one of Merlin's abilities, or was he speaking aloud for Arthur's tacit benefit? Kara glanced at her boyfriend suddenly with a catlike smile, and Merlin shook his head.

"Irrelevant. I'm on your side, you know that, but rules are rules and this one needs to be obeyed. One more year."

Kara shrugged one shoulder, glancing at Arthur as she swayed toward her boyfriend; the zipper had ended far enough down to show bra material, and he was quite sure it was intentional, being also a violation of dress code. He said nothing.

"If the gym is a'rockin'," Kara drawled. "Fine, _Mer_ lin. Chastity it is. Come on, Mordred, let's go _read a book_ or color inside the lines or something."

Mordred gave them both a last look as he followed the girl sashaying defiantly out of the gym – Merlin chuckled, shaking his head, and began to follow at a slower pace that wouldn't catch them up with the teenage couple.

"You're going to tell Gaius?" Arthur asked, having covered that section also in the handbook. Post-puberty meant complications with more than just magic, after all, and it was a boarding school.

Merlin glanced at him. "Nooo… are you?"

Arthur shrugged. "This is your job, I'm just here for the exercise, remember? But it is regulations – if you don't, _you're_ breaking the rules." Belatedly he remembered Merlin's earlier comment giving his opinion on that subject – and his solution to the cheating problem that didn't involve telling the headmaster.

Merlin hummed, turning to make sure of the doors behind them, locking them again with a wave. "I don't like to take things to Gaius," he said, "unless I _can't_ deal with them on my own."

And, Arthur guessed his new acquaintance was one who hated to admit any such thing. Perhaps he subconsciously felt it would disappoint the old man who evidently thought so highly of him. But though Arthur sympathized with the inclination to independence, he was fairly familiar with the chain of report and the need to guard against lawsuits, in his own business.

He pointed out mildly, "Rules are there for your protection as well."

Merlin didn't walk away, choosing instead to shove his hands in his pockets, and lean backward on the door. "Kara lost her mother almost three years ago. Middle of her freshman year. Her father thinks all magic-users are conniving and manipulative, secretly organizing to take over the world or something – he discourages her from going home on breaks. And she's happy to stay away – on a certain level.

"Mordred isn't an American. He came here last year from eastern Europe, drawn by the beacon – I'll show you – though he won't tell Gaius anything about his family or his past. He's nineteen now, didn't speak a word of English when he came, and couldn't pass even the sophomore-level tests.

"That," Merlin said, flipping a forefinger to indicate the pairing, as the two teens rounded a corner, out of sight, "was Alice's idea, to have Kara tutor Mordred. She kicked and screamed –"

Arthur wondered if he meant, _literally_.

"Refusing to babysit. And he declared he would learn nothing from a cheerleader."

"She's a cheerleader?" Arthur blurted incredulously.

Merlin gave him a look of fond exasperation. "They're really good for each other, actually. Just… impatient to be adults. And the attitude, that's kind of a requirement for teenagers toward teachers… but they'll behave, for now."

He pushed away from the door, beginning to saunter away down the hall – and once again, Arthur followed him. "You really do care about these kids, don't you?"

"I used to be one of them," Merlin reminded him. "Gaius was there for me – only, I didn't realize it until almost too late. And it's not a success if they graduate academically… only to ruin their own lives months or even years later."

The thought of his sister was almost too painful. Had no one been there for her? Or maybe she hadn't let anyone see the truth of her thoughts and emotions?

"I've never thought like a teacher before," Arthur remarked, as they passed through a side door, out to the narrow strip of lawn separating the building from the woods. "I'm not sure I like it very well."

"It's hardly ever a comfortable mindset," Merlin agreed. "Makes you feel guilty for ever being a teenager yourself, sometimes."

They rounded the corner and Arthur looked up a long green hill dotted with students – lounging or strolling or throwing Frisbees. At the top was a post that looked from the distance like a streetlight; Arthur squinted to see if it was lit.

"That's the beacon," Merlin added. "Morning rounds, I can stand up there and see to the perimeter, all the way around." Arthur guessed, _magically_. "At night, though, I have to walk it, so there's a path."

"And that's why you're late."

Merlin gave a nod and a smile, the same I-don't-mind shrug that he'd given Arthur, carrying the duffel up the stairs for him.

"So why do you do it?" Arthur asked. Because that motivation for his new acquaintance, he couldn't guess at. Fear of following his father's footsteps and sharing in his fate – Arthur thought distantly and uncomfortably of Uther and heart attacks – or a retreat from a less-than-hospitable world?

"It's a way of… paying a debt," Merlin said finally, watching the students rather than meeting Arthur's eyes. "Giving back. I'm no great shakes at healing magic, and I'm afraid I wouldn't be a very good ambassador of magic in any ordinary profession…" His tone was faintly dry, self-deprecating.

"Those who can't do, teach?" Arthur needled him.

"Something like that. Anyway, for better or worse, this is my home, now…" Merlin started climbing the hill, heading for the top, and Arthur watched him go.

 _And you thought your life was complicated._

…..*….. …..*….. …..*….. …..*….. …..*…..

By the third week, Arthur was beginning to feel like he had a decent handle on this teaching business. The changes in seating arrangement had resulted in sharp looks and honest grades, and Mordred had worn a tiny, enigmatic smile as if conceding the point. Neither of them had mentioned meeting in the gym on the weekend.

Monday had only been disturbed by a bang-and-shriek, and a cloud of purple fog in the hallway. Only those students in Algebra II who sat nearest the door looked up – the others continued with their assignment. Sophia, now in the back, got up to shut the door, and waved away a last wisp of purple with a gleam of golden magic, then returned to her seat without comment, and class carried on.

Arthur was proud of all of them.

Tuesday and Wednesday passed without incident that Arthur was aware of. But Arthur should have known it wouldn't last. Should have guessed the magical incidents wouldn't taper off so quickly or even stop altogether.

Thursday's disturbance began with a subtle odor, which Arthur initially ignored. But it developed rather than dissipating, til the freshman Algebra I just-before-lunch class was whispering incessantly, waving their hands to dispel the smell, holding their noses. Predictably, half the boys were blaming the other half in sign language, and the girls mostly giggled in embarrassment.

Arthur wondered if something had happened in the cafeteria down the hall, during the first hour of lunch – something gone wrong in the kitchen, maybe. He wondered if the school had a janitor, or if there was just Merlin.

And then it was, "Mr. Arthur, can we go outside? Can I open a window, at least?"

"That window doesn't open," he responded, trying to talk without sounding like he was breathing through his mouth – and now he could almost taste the smell.

"That doesn't matter," someone else offered, and more of them nodded their heads expectantly. Magic, of course, but Arthur wasn't ready to let a lot of freshmen try theirs in his classroom. And on a window.

"What _is_ that?" he demanded of no one in particular, stalking to the open door.

The smell was worse in the hallway. Dairy-farm worse. And conversely, there were more people – students and teachers both, hurrying toward the stairwell. Arthur thought of fire drills, but no alarms had been sounded. The students were out of their seats behind him, and he didn't want his choice to endanger them either way, stay or go.

"Oh!" one said suddenly, right next to his elbow, gold fading back to brown in the boy's eyes. "Vomiting toilet."

It was repeated through the class in half a second; Arthur didn't know whether to laugh or gag.

The boy added, "Can we go see? Everyone else is…"

And the air was getting close to unbreathable. And they all wanted to be closer to the source. "Fine," Arthur said.

The students tried to swarm around him, down the hall and the stairwell and around the corner toward the front of the lower level, but Arthur was bigger and taller and used to exercising nonverbal authority. He reached the front row of amused-disgusted observers just as they all retreated a step – and for good reason.

Arthur had never seen open sewage before. Whether this was that, or not, it was thick and black, viscous and grainy. Sludge covered the carpet, oozing outward to a chorus of deafening complaints.

Merlin stood at the door of the girls' bathroom, holding it open as he watched it creep in sluggish waves. His combat boots were toe-deep, and the cuffs of his jeans soaked a shinier black.

"Come on!" someone shouted irritably – maybe one of the teachers from the other side, because Merlin reacted to that voice alone, out of all the students' moaning.

"This is funny, right?" he said innocently, looking around – and the mingled chattering dropped to half volume. "Someone thought this would be funny. Don't we all think it's funny?"

Someone groaned, "Make it stop."

The sound of thick liquid gurgling through porcelain pipes sounded from the bathroom's interior, followed immediately by an exaggerated retching sound – and another wave of black sludge. Merlin was nearly ankle deep – and Arthur pressed back to keep the puddle's edge from his own shoes. Someone else in the crowd made a weaker, genuine sound of involuntary regurgitation.

"Just get rid of it, why don't you." Arthur recognized Cory Sigan's thin sneer.

Merlin shifted his weight in turning to the older history teacher, and one boot sucked grotesquely out of the mire before slopping back down. "It's a decent piece of magic," he said mildly. "Shouldn't we all take a minute to admire the artist's masterpiece? Can anyone read the signature?"

Arthur was startled at the silence that fell – a thoughtful silence, even as noses were held, and heat was waved away from feminine blushing.

"I know who," someone said. Followed immediately by other voices, clamoring to be told, or claiming the knowledge also.

Merlin searched the crowd a moment – giving Arthur a funny grin – then held out his hand. "Such a lovely job. Won't you come take a bow?"

A girl Arthur didn't recognize, with orphan-Annie-style messy pigtails, stepped gingerly out into the black swamp on the hallway floor. "Dammit, Merlin," she said out loud, pretending chagrin. "You weren't supposed to let it get this bad."

"Sorry," Merlin said; his smile made him look like a teenager himself. "My fault, then?"

"Someone's gone for Dr. Gaius," another youthful voice volunteered helpfully.

"Supposed we should have it cleaned before he gets here?" Merlin suggested. In the bathroom, the toilet gurgled and gagged.

Arthur nearly did also, in spite of a juvenile urge to grin and snicker. He noticed Katrina standing out from the retreating press of students, the carpet clean around her three-inch stilettos and skinny-jean cuffs in a perfectly forming circle; she was watching Merlin with a smirk.

Merlin was still watching the orphan-Annie girl, expectantly. She crossed her arms over a baggy striped t-shirt. "Well, I don't know how to stop it."

Katrina snorted, gestured, and a mop formed in her hand as her eyes glowed with the performance of magic, dangling shaggy white loops ridiculously over the wide bog that had formed. The girl blanched apprehensively, cutting her eyes toward Merlin in a pleading expression.

Merlin smiled, and spoke, the words catching at Arthur's attention as not-English, not any language he recognized, and his pulse increased to recognize a spell. But nothing happened. Merlin added clearly, "But cleaning it won't be enough. We're going to have to reverse it."

The arms clenched a little tighter; the girl looked nervous. Merlin reached for her hand again – and spoke a spell again. It did sound a little like Latin – or maybe German? – but there was no flash in his eyes this time, either. The girl hesitated – then took his outstretched hand, repeating the phrase awkwardly and imperfectly.

And nothing happened.

"It won't work," Sigan commented. Aglain at his ear hissed in reprimand.

Merlin smiled at the girl. And when she spoke again, he spoke as well – and the magic gleamed simultaneously. Merlin let go of her hand, bending as if to scoop up the sludge – not touching, but –

Unseen in the bathroom, the toilet coughed and slurped like a straw in a nearly-empty cup. Merlin spun in the other direction, gesturing with cupped hand. The girl stepped back – eyes still glowing – but the attention was all Merlin's, as evil-smelling black goo receded, rippling backward.

Arthur toed the newly-revealed carpet – both clean and dry, all the way down the nap.

The puddle continued to withdraw, back into the bathroom, following Merlin's unspoken commands as the toilet glug-glugged like a constant flush. It sucked back from Merlin's feet, retreated out of sight in the bathroom leaving not a single smear or streak – and then the toilet flushed one last time.

Merlin affected to wipe his boots, lifting them to check the tread – and applause broke out spontaneously.

It made Arthur glad, to see his roommate grin. Merlin gestured to the girl – some of the applause turned good-naturedly negative – she gave her schoolmates all the finger, blushing furiously but not able to keep from smiling.

A hollow _pop!_ interrupted them, and tiny flower petals fluttered down from the ceiling like confetti, flooding the hall with the scent of lilac – much appreciated after the sewer-stench – and dissolved on the carpet like snow. Arthur saw the telltale gleam fade from Alice's eyes as she turned, a satisfied smile on her face.

Then the end-of-the-hour bell rang, and half the students groaned as a few of the teachers began shepherding them on to other classes – the other half hurrying on to second lunch eagerly. Orphan-Annie propped the mop against one of the lockers, and marched off under the supervision of one of the day-teachers whose name Arthur didn't remember.

Merlin met Arthur's eyes and lifted his eyebrows as if to excuse or apologize, the worst magic Arthur had seen so far. As if he hadn't just proved the opposite as well. But he was still grinning, himself.

"Is it safe to cross?" Arthur asked facetiously, nodding to the expanse of carpet that separated them.

Just then, the double glass doors at the front of the classroom building thud-clattered shut behind a portly figure. Dr. Gaius demanded, "What is going on here?"

Merlin sent Arthur a quick boyish grimace – as if he were the one caught in a misdeed – ducking into the bathroom to avoid the old man who was employer to both. Gaius, however, seemed adequately informed; before following his security officer, he gave Arthur a raised eyebrow. It reminded him uncomfortably of his abandoned classroom and the students that had presumably straggled back to claim packs and books before lunch.

Arthur reflected how a prank like this would have set his high school back days, if not a week or more, for cleaning and airing and inspection, the student responsible possibly slapped with legal charges. And here it was dealt with in a matter of moments. He felt new respect for his young acquaintance, and decided to wait on the next free moment Merlin might have, since his next class wasn't til after the lunch-hour break. Mindful of Gaius' return – and the last of the gawkers retreating reluctantly – Arthur moved to a small alcove across from the bathrooms. It housed a pair of ancient vending machines, and the doorway to Alice's office, which was separate from the actual infirmary in the administrative building, beds and medicinal stores.

Across the hallway from Freya's classroom, also. He hadn't seen her in the crowd, but guessed she and her students had probably come out to observe, also. From here he hoped he could wait for Merlin without catching Dr. Gaius' eye again, and eavesdrop a little unnoticed on the shy Miss Lacosta's class.

She had a soft, pleasant voice; he had a hard time making out words. The rest of the room was silent, though, evidently she had no trouble keeping order and attention.

"No… more to do with… _heart,_ than _mind_ … see?"

Another question, indistinct. Silence for a moment, then Freya appeared at the door of her classroom, wearing a slimming Indian-pattern dress with flat shoes and a clinging earth-red sweater.

She didn't see Arthur, but moved quickly and gracefully around the corner to the newly-cleaned bathroom, and it said something about her as a teacher, that haphazard noise didn't immediately erupt from her deserted class. Arthur felt awkward, though – was she looking for the headmaster and the security officer? Or would all three be embarrassed when she found them in the little-girls' room?

The door opened again, and both men came out, Merlin holding it open for Gaius. "No, I think it'll be all right, she knows what she's doing."

Again, neither of them noticed Arthur in the vending alcove – had someone cast a spell to make him invisible? he wondered with sarcasm – and couldn't say anything. Interrupt their conversation to admit, _hey I was hanging out to say… something vague… to someone I room with and am going to see later_?

"You know I trust your judgment, Merlin…" The two magic-users, young and old, headed for the double-glass doors of the building's front entrance. "But after this morning's incident, don't you think you should keep close, in case…"

Arthur emerged – glancing back to be sure neither of them glanced back – and headed for the stairwell.

And just as he reached for the handrail, his foot rising to meet the first step, a flicker of motion and sound – bathroom door, Freya – caught his attention _enough_. He looked to see if she noticed him this time, intending to exchange a quick smile and nod if she had–

He froze absolutely motionless. The shape that emerged from the bathroom door was dark and animal – feline and _wings_?

Oh, hells. School of magic. Vomiting toilet might be funny but a _monster_ –

It prowled around the corner, intent on the open door of the classroom. Arthur's stomach, churning already with dread, dropped straight to his feet.

All those _kids_.

The conjured mop was still propped against the lockers. Arthur snatched it, snapping the silly woolen head off against his knee, and leaped into the classroom with a stick roughly a yard long and broken-jagged on one end.

He had a brief impression of the class on his left – wide eyes, mouths covered, gasps and a few startled shrieks when he appeared – before the creature turned on him.

Exactly like a winged panther. Whiskers bristled and it hissed, showing substantial fangs. The tail began to lash as it sank into a crouch.

Arthur took a step forward, crouching himself into something like a goalie's ready position – _no_ protective gear – and it drew back, but raised hackle-hair and wings even more menacingly, crowded on one side by the blackboard, on the other by the rows of student-seats.

"Everyone out," Arthur said into the tension in the room's air. Not taking his eyes from the beast – which didn't blink or look away – but trying to keep his voice calm.

"But Mr. Arthur – " someone said tremulously.

"I will handle this," he told the class, out of sight behind his side vision. "Leave the room. Now."

Hiss became growl, warning imminent action; the beast shifted weight and Arthur hoped he'd have the time to position the stake in his hand so it would impale itself in attacking him. Then he'd have to protect his face and neck as best he could and hope its writhings would finish it off first…

"Go!" he repeated insistently, and heard a few of them begin tentatively to obey. And where the hell was –

Puff of slightly spicy air. Arthur blinked and felt the first edge of relief and –

Merlin, between Arthur and the beast. Facing Arthur, with his back to the monster and –

Eyes blazing with golden rage. Every inch and line of him quivering in a stance blatantly protective of the animal. His hands were empty but all at once Arthur felt absolute terror.

Merlin was a stranger. With magic. And Arthur had no idea what would happen.

"What the hell are you doing," the younger man gritted through his teeth.

"I could ask you the same thing," Arthur retorted, his lips feeling stiff. "Don't you see –"

"Put that _thing_ down and back. The hell. Off."

Discretion might be the better part of valor, but it wasn't the bigger part just now; Arthur felt in a deep primal way, that his life was still in very real danger. He kept hold of the splinter-sharp mop handle – would Merlin launch himself forward, necessitating defense? – but noticed something.

The winged panther hadn't attacked Merlin, though he was close enough to sniff. Its crouched posture – ears flattened but eyes on Arthur - now seemed more of a cowering behind the security officer. That meant something significant, but –

Merlin's hands balled into fists; he straightened slightly and took half a step forward. Arthur responded instinctively to the alien and uncertain aggression of a magical being, retreating a step and bringing up his weapon.

More gasps from their juvenile audience. One person exclaimed reprovingly, "Merlin!"

The winged panther slid forward, one wing folded to allow it to brush against the outside of Merlin's leg. He halted, opening his hand down toward the furry black cat's head, though his attention remained focused entirely on Arthur – who opened his mouth to croak another warning, in spite of everything.

Then it nuzzled upward into Merlin's open palm and outstretched fingers.

Oh, damn it all.

School pet, or something. Only, why hadn't someone told _him_?

It was purring, a deep and throaty rumble that yearned upward to Merlin – pleadingly, comfortingly –

Arthur eased another step back, lowering the mop handle slowly. He could not defend himself against magic with it anyway, and knew to his bones that he did not want to provoke this sort of deep and terrible anger from the young man opposing him.

Merlin blinked, and his eyes were blue again. His off arm and the tension of his muscles dropped.

"Put it down," he demanded again. And as Arthur bent to drop it by the wall under the chalkboard, in wordless and resistant humiliation, Merlin addressed the rest of the room. "Is everyone all right?"

Nervous murmurs of assent.

Merlin took a deep breath through his nostrils, and let it out, still watching Arthur narrowly. "Class dismissed, then." A second later, glancing down at the panther, he added to the class, shuffling and preparing to leave, "Don't forget the homework for tomorrow."

Arthur had the odd sense that he was being kept after class for some misdeed he didn't fully understand. It irritated him, made him want to spin about and stalk away, but.

He'd never run from a fight. He'd never surrendered a challenge. Or turned his back on a friend.

"This class," Merlin said between his teeth, as the last few students slipped out, shooting backward glances that made the skin up Arthur's spine crawl, "deals with the principles of shape-shifting. A difficult and uncommon discipline among users of magic but how _dare_ you let your damn fear and irrational prejudice cause you to attack a _teacher_ in front of a classroom full of her students –"

"Just a minute," Arthur protested immediately. "I am not –" Belatedly his brain attached meaning to Merlin's words – _shape-shifting, teacher, her_ – and he pointed at the panther. "You mean _that_ –"

Merlin bristled, even as the creature's purr increased its rumble. "Freya is a gorgeous and talented Bas and an amazing teacher. _Shame_ on you," he spat wrathfully, and Arthur's soul quailed a little under the scourge of his rare contempt, "for employing judgment without an ounce of comprehension."

Humiliation had always made his father belligerent, in an attempt to neutralize and nullify the other emotion. It was a tendency Arthur had as well, but being aware of it, tried not to –

"I'm sorry," he said. "I didn't know –"

Merlin gave him a glance of scathing disappointment, that made him feel soaked in sour acid to the skin – already turning away to kneel beside the panther. Bas? Unhesitatingly he reached to stroke and ruffle the thick shiny fur, using not only his hands but both his arms entire, embracing Freya's creature body. She returned the affection, leaning and rubbing against him like an enormous house cat, fit to knock him over if he wasn't braced to take her weight. Eyes shut and back arched, wings fluttering delicately and expressively and Merlin was murmuring something to her.

And Arthur had rarely felt so stupid.

He turned on his heel and left the classroom. The passing-period bell rang while he was in the stairwell, and teenage bodies flowed around him, and he'd missed lunch. He tried to maintain an attitude of decorum, but reminding himself of his worth and status didn't help; this wasn't DC, and didn't mean much anyway at Lone Oak.

Where he was still so foolishly uninformed. And just had participated in one of Merlin's _incidents_ – as the perpetrator. And probably, he'd just royally screwed up his living situation also. If Merlin didn't magic all of Arthur's belongings into Cory Sigan's room, he might very well have magicked all of his own things elsewhere instead.

Calculus and Government both passed without Arthur's roommate poking his shaggy black-haired head into the open doorway with a teenage grin and an admonishment for the class to take it easy on him. They were both quiet classes. No one asked any questions, or offered contrary opinions. Arthur remembered how swiftly rumor had spread at his high school and wondered if he was going to have to make a formal public apology. He cringed to think of facing Gaius' appraisal of the situation.

Maybe he should go straight to the headmaster's office after class, confess and get it over with.

Maybe he should bring his signed resignation with him when he went.

The bell rang, startling his head up from its resting place on his fist, elbow propped on the desk he leaned against, with the back of his chair to the gray of the window. The students gathered their books and papers into their backpacks without talking – glancing at him, glancing at each other – and filed out.

Heart heavy, Arthur gathered up his own papers and charts, and returned to his room on the teachers' wing of the dormitory building.

Silent and unoccupied. Which wasn't unusual, but it felt different. At least everything was still in its place, his things and Merlin's. At least he wouldn't have to put up with Sigan's snide triumph – _see, I was right about ordinary people_ – all the time.

Seating himself at his desk next to the door, he lifted the screen of his laptop; when he logged in, a message from Leon came up. _Haven't heard from you in awhile. Everything okay?_

Arthur let out a single sarcastic bark of a laugh. And typed back, _Not really. Totally screwed up today. Idiot new ordinary takes misunderstanding almost too far…_ And as he hit Send, he remembered a comment Merlin had made, offhand, when Arthur had first met Freya – that if he promised not to bite, the least the she could do was promise the same… He had the urge to slap his forehead into his palm.

Leon was online also at the moment, an hour and a half away in DC, and Arthur found that oddly comforting. His succinct answer, not so much.

 _Apologize._

Arthur leaned his temple against his knuckles. I did already. Not as easy as it sounds. He typed, _Yeah… how's the hotel?_

Leon intuited from that solitary line, that Arthur needed to be cheered with a story of Percival responding to a noise complaint on the third floor, only to walk in on a married couple celebrating their 40th with a little experimental S&M. He had a slight smile threatening Arthur's face before long, but ended too soon with, _Gotta go. Meeting someone for dinner tonight_. Insert emoji with hearts for eyes and, _Don't laugh_.

Arthur huffed once, but it was equal parts envy and amusement. And Leon logged off to prepare for his date.

Collapsed in his desk chair in the same attitude as he'd adopted to pass the afternoon's class time, his disquieted thoughts distracted him from profitable lesson plans. Arthur actually flinched when the latch clicked open.

Door pushed aside. Arthur caught a glimpse of green and black at the corner of his vision, and didn't lift his head, uncomfortably aware of his roommate's proximity. Merlin pushed the door closed, leaning against it for a moment. He might have been looking anywhere in the room – out the window even – but Arthur was convinced his roommate was staring at him. Then he sidled out of Arthur's peripheral, eased himself down at the near end of the couch, and said.

"Arthur."

Opening conversation in a personal way, the use of Arthur's name, but it was the _tone_.

He'd expected at least one more exchange. He'd hoped it wouldn't be the sort of dispute where words were weapons and attitudes were shields to prevent the other person's words from penetrating or leaving a mark. And both combatants left the field more firmly enemies than before.

But the way Merlin said Arthur's name. Was intimate, and vulnerable – not at all like the way he'd faced him in Freya's classroom.

It was the way Percival sounded when he spoke about his younger brother that was autistic. Or the way Gwaine, drunker than usual that time, had revealed to Arthur that he might have been a father, had an ex-girlfriend made a different choice years ago. It was the way Leon said, _Arthur, let's talk in the car_. And Merlin was going on before Arthur could completely react.

"I haven't been so absolutely _terrified_ in a very long time."

Arthur was still in the process of shifting his chair and his weight to face his roommate more fully – and nearly tipped over. Merlin, terrified?

"It was _Freya_ , and you had that stick, and I…" Merlin exhaled, and Arthur thought with slight alarm how very pale the younger man looked suddenly. His arms hugged to his chest, Merlin leaned his forehead down on his knees, and spoke toward the floor. "I thought I was going to lose her."

Arthur was too shocked to form a coherent thought, much less a sentence.

So Merlin said – and it seemed he was having the same problem as Arthur - "She's so… amazing. Beautiful and kind and funny and. _Encouraging_ , you don't know how much that's meant to me and I know I don't deserve even to know someone like that, much less count her my best friend, and I was sure. This was it. The _end_ , and. Maybe it was my fault because I hadn't. Explained things to you properly, or saw that. Something like this could happen?"

"Merlin," Arthur said, and the younger man lifted his head enough to see him. "I did not know that creature was a person. I only thought – the children in the class –"

Without uncurling or straightening, Merlin nodded. "I know. She said."

"She said?"

"When she's in her Bas form, Freya senses things differently. She said you thought you were defending the students." He huffed. "And that I shouldn't be too hard on you."

Crazy-amazing. Little wonder Merlin was already half in love with her, though he didn't appear to recognize that. Too busy being himself, maybe.

"It's just, she's. Already so nervous, about letting even the new students know about her. She doesn't like the idea of people knowing and being afraid or angry or… Gwen is the only ordinary person who knows."

Arthur remembered the name as belonging to the café owner, Freya's best friend. But Merlin had just said, Freya was _his_ best friend…

"So I wanted to say." Merlin pushed himself up, but kept his elbows tucked in tight, still clearly uncomfortable though his gaze was open and honest. "I hope I didn't-"

"Oh hells _please_ don't apologize," Arthur blurted, aghast. Both Merlin had Freya had already been so decent about the situation, more than he deserved.

Merlin's lips quirked just slightly. "I wasn't going to," he said, taking Arthur aback yet again. "I'm not sorry for what I did, or how I did it, and I'd do whatever was necessary to protect her – and the students – from anyone or anything. No, I wanted to say that I hope I didn't permanently offend you or set you against all of us and please not to quit because Gaius would have a hard time replacing you, and blame me for that, and…" He gave a semi-theatrical shudder.

Arthur snorted a surprised breath through his nostrils. "I rather thought I'd be seeing Gaius about severance pay… No, Merlin – I want to say I'm sorry, for overreacting and frightening Freya and the class – and you…"

"All right," Merlin said, too easily. Like he accepted the apology at face value, but didn't really _believe_ it.

"No, I mean it. If I can make it up, somehow – apologize to the class…"

"I don't think that will be necessary," Merlin said. "Just… I guess this process was never going to be quick and painless, so if you're good to stay… then we're good."

"Yes," Arthur said.

Merlin nodded decisively, pushed himself up from the couch, and crossed the room to drop into his desk chair. Arthur watched him open his own computer, and fit a pair of ear-buds in place to listen to audio without bothering Arthur.

He couldn't doubt Merlin's sincerity. But his motivation… was for the good of the school. As if he expected – still – that Arthur would hold some sort of grudge personally. Though he had re-extended friendship, maybe he didn't or couldn't trust it would be reciprocated at the same level they'd reached, before.

 _I had_ a _friend_ , Merlin had said of his elementary school days. And now, had only Freya – and Gwen, evidently – as friends of his own generation, as far as Arthur could tell. And who could say aught of Merlin's relationships in the time between childhood and adulthood?

Something occurred to Arthur. During those tense moments, when Merlin's magic had been ready at his eyes and fingertips, when he'd feared for Freya's life – still he hadn't _done_ anything. Had controlled himself to defense, only.

Arthur looked at Merlin's back, bent over the computer, showing jutting bone and raw muscle through his green Lone-Oak long-sleeve. Things could have turned out far differently, that afternoon, had Merlin been a different sort of person. Things had turned out far differently for Morgana.

He still believed that friendship with Merlin was a worthwhile pursuit. But how to _show_ …

A metaphorical lightbulb flickered at the top of Arthur's mind, and he stood from his chair, reaching to let himself out the door of their room without disturbing his roommate.


	7. Tea and Humble Pie

**Chapter 7: Tea and Humble Pie**

A hot shower and a chilled wine, and Freya curled up on her couch in a comfortable caftan, to rest her head and eyes and listen to instrumental music.

 _Quel_ day. _Quel_ week, even. The practical lesson on shape-shifting could not have been more catastrophic, and that would throw off the rest of the term, she thought. In five minutes that man had destroyed every point she'd tried to make to the students thus far.

Not quite an hour til she went for dinner, and she'd sunk into quite a pleasant dozing reverie that a knock on her door interrupted.

Startled, she stared at her calendar - featuring soothing waterfalls – pinned on the back of it for a moment. Not Merlin's knock, nor Alice's. And no one else came, and the students weren't supposed to – the seniors who were residence assistants reported to Katrina.

Unfolding herself from the couch and setting her wine glass down, she padded to the door and opened it.

And tensed, inhaling against a sudden urge to slam it again in spite of hydraulic hinges. The new teacher, Arthur Pendragon, stood expectant, hands in his pockets and a sheepish-looking half-smile on his face.

"I'm unarmed," he said, taking out his hands to show her, then shoving them back, hidden and comfortable.

She stared at him, unable to respond.

He added, with a little more sensitivity, "I came to say, I'm really and truly sorry for what happened today."

She resisted the urge to hide behind the door like a thick wooden shield. Mostly. Residual and reactive fear lingered of the way she'd sensed him in her Bas form, intent and deadly as a hunter and she nowhere near his equal. She'd had no desire to fight or harm him, but cornered and responsible still for the class full of students…

"It's all right," she managed. "I understand."

And she honestly did. He hadn't smelled vicious or cruel, but fearful himself, and determined to protect her class from a creature he didn't understand. But her inability to speak while in that form only compounded the terror.

But… now she could. And he didn't shrug and turn on his heel to leave her door. He hadn't blustered and shouted at Merlin in the classroom. She wondered if he'd seen Merlin since then – if Merlin had taken her advice or not - and whose idea, then, this apology had been.

"Yeah, Merlin told me you… figured I didn't know what I was doing." The half-smile turned wry. "I'd like to offer to… come to your class, tomorrow? Or next week, if you'd rather? Tell the students I'm sorry and… give a speech on the dangers of jumping to conclusions."

Freya realized with a mild shock that she was actually starting to like him. That self-deprecating humor that was probably a good part of what Merlin liked about him as a roommate. And the ability to admit a blunder, and try to make it right. And her fear was fading.

Just, maybe not the shyness, yet. She nodded, clinging to the door. "Sure. If you want to."

"Maybe stay for the lesson? Are you going to shift again?"

A shiver of discomfort rippled through her involuntarily – and he saw it. His face fell slightly, and he moved as if to begin walking away.

"Never mind me staying, then. I'll still see you tomorrow to make my apology?"

And she'd never have the courage to approach him, never have the slightest inkling of what to say to start a conversation cold. And Gaius and Merlin both wanted this venture – an ordinary teacher at their school of magic – to work so badly.

She blurted, "Was she younger than you, or older?" He paused, not quite connecting comprehension, and she added, "Your sister? Who was magic?"

…..*….. …..*….. …..*….. …..*….. …..*…..

The question caught Arthur by surprise, and he looked back at the girl, clutching her door between them like it was a life raft and he a shark. He remembered what Merlin had said about her own family. Lost all at once, leaving her on her own. Unprepared for life, and new magic.

Arthur said, "She was younger than me, but not by much."

Also, as dissimilar to Freya as possible. Morgana would have erupted from her room with metaphorical guns blazing, and blasted him and his apology into next week – she had done more than once when they were young. Morgana would have jumped him, as a winged panther, and ripped his throat out, right there on the classroom floor.

Disconcerting thought.

Freya, meanwhile, was studying him gravely. She pushed her door open and said, "Want a cup of tea? Or something stronger?"

As if he hadn't tried, earlier that very day, to impale her with a broken mop handle. Once again Arthur marveled at the personal courage of these magic folks. She was quite like Merlin that way; no wonder they were close.

He smiled. "Sure, thanks. Anything you have is fine, though, you don't have to go to any trouble."

She left the door open, and he followed her, noting the quaint-chic travel posters on her walls, the sheer colorful scarves draped over the tops of her set of ugly-industrial blinds. Painted-rose lampshade, and thick-soft rug in large blocks of dark purple and red in front of her own couch. That piece of furniture was as short as the one in the room he shared with Merlin, because there wasn't room for more, but it was soft tan fabric with arms as high as the back, and she was using the second desk under the window for a drinks-table.

Delicate but generous cup decorated with raised green leaves, filled from a water bottle over a teabag from a packet in a box. Arthur caught the stray gleam of magic from her eyes, and steam wafted from the cup. Quick and easy and probably safer than any other form of heating element, in a dorm room, he reflected wryly.

"Sugar?" she said, gesturing to a fat blue bowl with a spoon in on the table, as she handed him the cup.

"You don't share with anyone?" he asked, stepping to the table. He decided to relax in the desk chair before reaching for the spoon; she curled up in the corner of the couch.

"Used to," she said, retrieving a long-stemmed goblet of what looked like red wine, cuddling it close to her chest, elbows in. Still not comfortable with her invitation of him, in spite of the fact that her door remained four inches ajar. "She moved to Florida to get married. That's the teacher you replaced."

"Huh," he said with good humor. "Magic-users in Florida. What would you need it for _there_?"

She smiled, a sweet and engaging expression. "I know, right? So where do your people come from? Your family all lives in the city?"

He stirred his tea carefully, cupping the mug for the warmth. "It's just me, now. My mom died when we were little… I have this memory that she was soft and smelled nice when I sat on her lap, and then she was just gone. Then my sister, and… my father didn't like to talk about them. He passed away this spring. Heart attack."

"I'm so sorry," she said, just as sincere as Merlin had been. Truly caring for Arthur as a person, and it made him sick now to think he might have hurt her.

"I'm sorry that… I didn't know my sister had magic," he said slowly. "It was kept a secret from me, so I feel now like, I didn't know _her_ at all, either, if I didn't know…"

She nodded in sudden comprehension, moving slightly to balance the foot of her goblet on her uppermost knee. "Very much about magic itself? How it works, how it doesn't – what people can do and can't and shouldn't and won't…"

He gave her a wry grimace. "Yeah. All that."

"So you came here, to meet us and understand us, because you didn't have that chance with your sister," she spoke quietly, sympathetically.

"Yeah." He tried to swallow the lump in his throat along with the tea, and only ended up scalding himself. At least it was an excuse for the tears that came to his eyes.

"Didn't she have friends here? People you could talk to about her?" Freya asked.

He shook his head. "Too long ago. Gaius remembers but I get the idea it's pretty vague –" except maybe for the aftermath of her death, but that wasn't necessarily something Arthur wanted to hear about in detail – "and I feel like if I ask Alice too many specific questions, it will… change things. Between us, and with me here."

She twisted slightly to look out the window, leaning one elbow on the stuffed arm of the couch. "That's why, I think this is important," she said. "For ordinary people to understand these things. Because only so many of us come from families that have magic, and sometimes it's an abrupt shock all around, for those who don't."

"Was your family magic?" he ventured.

She smiled. "I suppose Merlin told you about the hurricane?"

"A bit," he clarified, and she sighed, her little smile fading quickly.

"So you and I have that in common, the lack of family – fancy that," she said. "What was your sister like, if you don't mind me asking?"

"You know it's funny," he admitted. "I never thought much on the fact that though magic-users share a characteristic, you all can be so different as people – and yet not so different from folk you call ordinary, in other ways." He hoped he didn't sound unintelligent – unimaginative, maybe. "My sister was – for instance – nothing like you. She could talk a mile a minute and everything was a contest to her."

"You two were very competitive?" Freya suggested, smiling.

"Yeah." Maybe it had to do with having a single father, and Arthur as the firstborn son automatically got more of their father's attention. "What about your family? If you don't mind me asking," he repeated her with gentle humor.

"My older brother teased me constantly. I feel like, I could have loved him more if he would've just _let_ me… My younger brother, though." She toyed with her wine goblet, took a slow absent swallow. "Um, the storm? Happened while he was too young… to know if he might have been magic, too." Her smile was steady, but her dark eyes shone with tears.

So she never knew if they might have been alike in that way. And never would know… and he felt that way, too. He found himself saying – as sincerely as he had once told a drunk Gwaine after _years_ of close friendship – "I'm so sorry."

She gulped, and nodded, and he recalled Merlin saying, _Her_ _magic saved her life, in a rather shocking way_ … The storm, then, and her ability to shape-shift?

"Can I ask you a favor?" he said. "You can tell me to shove it, and we'll still be cool."

She laughed a little at that. "You can _ask_."

"Would you tell me… what it was like for you? When you found out you had magic?"

She looked at him, and he held her gaze for a long moment. Then she exhaled and looked away. "If you didn't know about your sister's magic, it probably showed in something small. Maybe even a series of incidents, that's what's most common."

He let her skirt the question a moment. "What about Merlin, then?"

Freya's smile bloomed instantly. "Merlin is unique."

Not even close to how the young man himself said sardonically, _freak among freaks._

"He's incredibly strong, actually – if you could see how much he does around here compared to what George Valiant did when we were in high school… He says he doesn't even remember starting. Like learning to walk, in his case, maybe. He was already running marathons and doing – I don't know, cartwheels and triple jumps, metaphorically, by the time I met him. I mean, he _learned_ a lot while he was here, but he could _do_ more than half the teachers combined."

"Huh," Arthur said intelligently. And could think of nothing more to add that wasn't along the questionable lines of, _he doesn't look it_.

"When I…" she hesitated. Both hands on the stem of her goblet again – and she took a long swallow before continuing. "It does happen occasionally, more abruptly. Explosively. If there's a situation of danger or trauma, or something.

"We had a beach house. Not right on the ocean, but… My father was a surgeon? And we didn't evacuate because he knew he'd be needed after the… storm passed. And then it was… I woke up and heard my little brother screaming for my mom. She didn't answer. It was dark – no power, you know. And wind and rain inside the house and I was terrified and I wanted nothing more than to be _so_ far away. Just, to escape to a place beyond the storm. And – it hurt when I shifted, first. I thought I was dying and then – when I woke up. I was _far_ away, and the sun was shining, and I didn't understand.

"I didn't panic then, not for a little while. I hid and then… I decided to walk. But then there were people, and I was afraid again. And that time, I realized what was happening, but I… couldn't stop it. And I just… _flew_."

Her face wasn't as expressive as Merlin's always seemed, but there was something in her eyes as she gazed out the window toward the sky that gave Arthur a funny longing shiver. A feeling, a sensation, an instinct that he'd never have, and couldn't begin to comprehend. Even hang-gliding, he supposed, wouldn't really come close.

"I tried to find my way home," she continued, "but. My house was… pretty much flattened. I went to a neighbor, she told me they were all dead. But. She wanted to know how I survived, and I… couldn't. Couldn't explain. And she called child services and I… ran away."

Merlin's voice again echoed through Arthur's memory - _she was on her own for quite awhile before she came here…_ He kept quiet and attentive. And she didn't smile brightly and change the subject.

For a long moment more she chewed her lip and stared out her window – maybe stared at her scarf-curtains - then glanced absently around her room. Her belongings. Remembering, he supposed, that she wasn't that scared, lost kid anymore.

She said, "Once. A man caught me. He was magic, and he wanted…" She shuddered, and met his eyes. "I don't want you to feel bad about earlier, what you almost did. I don't hold that against you, that's why I'm telling you this, because Merlin doesn't even know. I got away from the sorcerer, but I don't know if he lived."

Arthur held himself still and expressionless with an effort. Seeing again that winged panther, crouching and backing, ears down and fangs bared – the damage that he'd expected, only hoping to maim and distract while the students escaped…

"Gaius helped me check, years later, but we didn't find any reports that seemed to match my memories. And there was another time, when an ordinary man… attacked me. You can guess what he wanted, probably, that would be easier to explain than what the magic-user wanted…"

He remembered Merlin saying of potentially evil magic, _a certain kind of unscrupulous personality_ ; he remembered how her timidity seemed more closely linked to his gender than his lack of magic, and it didn't take much imagination to understand what sort of advantage a man might take of a homeless thirteen-year-old.

To save her further embarrassment, and himself further shock, he said quickly and firmly, "That's self-defense, though. Both times."

She leaned forward a little, like she'd heard that before, maybe even told herself that before – but didn't quite believe it. "It's so complicated, when I have the ability to grow fangs and claws. Our community has a tendency to hide these sorts of things because people who don't understand… just wouldn't understand."

Arthur took a deep breath, and let it out, because… he was starting to understand. The vomiting toilet that would never be explained to municipal authority, only dealt with. He wondered if parents of students who were involved in various incidents, were required to be notified. And who held the school accountable.

That bothered him. The fact that truth was hidden, because more trouble would be caused by revealing it… but maybe that was something like a universal truth, itself. A consequence of living in an imperfect world.

"Well," he said, "I'm glad you have this place, now."

She smiled again, sweet and lovely as a child. "Now may I ask you a favor?"

He couldn't help a similar expression from spreading in response. How long had she been considering asking, and had she told him her life story and her secrets to oblige him this? "What?"

"Please don't hold it against Merlin," she said earnestly. "What he said, how he said it. He has so much patience with the kids, with everyone, all the time – and when he does lose his temper, it's for a very good reason. He might be… very different from most people, so they don't understand him and don't bother trying and so he hasn't got many really good friends, but…"

She took a well-needed breath, and sighed it out with a self-conscious smile at his expression of amusement.

"He's worth a little patience in return, he really is. He was my first and only friend when I got here, and the shape-shifting thing never made one bit of difference to him. I can't tell you how many times I cried on his shoulder, figuratively speaking, while we were struggling through high school, and he was always ready and willing for the next time. I know he's really impressed with how you're handling this – being immersed in our community, and doing a difficult job for the first time."

Well, huh. If that was true, Arthur guessed those things Merlin said in the classroom had come from temper – and he had one himself, at times, he had to admit – and the slight withdrawal he'd sensed in trying to apologize to Merlin just now, due to uncertainty on the younger man's part, whether Arthur was still trustworthy.

He said, "Yeah, I can do that." _I_ am _doing that_.

She sat back, relieved, and he returned his cooled mug with the dregs of the tea, to the desktop beside him. This was where he should excuse himself and hope that he'd made progress, but – curiosity got the better of him. She'd defended Merlin so passionately…

"Can I ask you a favor?" he said. She looked startled – disconcerted – then agreeable. "Just to tell me something."

"If I can," she said candidly.

"Why aren't the two of you together? You and Merlin."

She blushed rosy and dropped her eyes. "There's rules," she said softly. "Dating other teachers."

Arthur snorted. "I highly doubt Gaius could criticize, considering his relationship with Alice." Her sweet smile spread through her heightened color, and he added, "I mean, since Merlin isn't with anyone else, is he? And neither are you? He obviously cares a great deal about you."

She wouldn't meet his eye. "I don't know you that well, Mr. Pendragon."

"Arthur," he said coaxingly, and, "Come on, now. You'll tell me the story of how you discovered you had magic, and lost your family, but not this? Look – I'm single and I've never had a successful friendship with a female, and it seems like it might be better to start from friendship than mutual physical attraction, so… pointers?"

"Merlin and I are just friends," she said stubbornly, down to her fingers, twisted about the stem of her goblet – though she was still smiling. And still quite pink. "Always have been, always will be, I hope."

"And not anything more?" Arthur said, sensing she was more flattered than offended, by his questions. "Are you happy with that? You're in love with him, aren't you?"

She freed a hand to lay the back of her fingers against one pink cheek – but still, didn't resist or stiffen like she felt he'd overstepped his bounds. Then again, they weren't exactly just polite acquaintances, anymore.

"I wouldn't say it like that," she told him. " _In love_ seems so… shallow. Silly, even – selfishly romantic. All about _feelings_. What's between me and Merlin is more like… truth. I'll never love another man like I love him. And it seems dishonest to be with anyone else, when I've already made my choice. I belong to Merlin – don't look at me like that, I know you can't understand, but that's the way it is. I don't need Valentine's Day from him to keep my interest or affirm our relationship or strengthen our connection."

"But you'd like it," Arthur suggested slyly. And now felt quite fraternal toward her; she was so much nicer to tease than Morgana, who would respond with a barrage of sharp and well-aimed attacks of her own to deflect his.

"He…" She resisted. "If he wanted something… like that, I think he'd tell me… or show me…"

"Hm," Arthur mused skeptically. "If Merlin is the sort to put everyone else first, maybe he thinks he can't offer you that sort of Valentine's Day attention you deserve, so he doesn't begin to try. Maybe _you_ should tell _him_ – or show him – what you'd like."

She looked uncertain. "I know in this day and age, waiting on the male to initiate is considered old-fashioned, but I don't know if I can –"

"Flirt?" Arthur suggested audaciously.

It was her turn to snort in feminine shock. "Arthur! Maybe you are very handsome and have all kinds of girls throwing themselves at you, but I am not –"

"The wrong kinds," he interrupted mournfully. "I'm asking for pointers, remember? Okay, I'm not saying, wait naked for him in his bed – in fact, please don't –" Merlin shared his room with Arthur, after all.

She blushed again, but held his eyes this time, her own brimming with merriment, and he was glad he'd managed to cheer her up.

"But I'm positive you can subtly ask for more affection, and see where that leads. All else fails, kiss him. Then you'll have to talk about it, and…" Arthur shrugged. "Who knows?"

"But what if he doesn't want – that?" she said. "What if he only wants to be friends and I mess it up for us?"

"What if he's thinking the same thing?" Arthur said. "Nothing ventured, nothing gained."

"Yes, I suppose so…" She chewed her lip and looked out the window.

"Okay," Arthur said, slapping his knees lightly and pushing to his feet. "I think this has been real enough for today, don't you?"

She laughed and rose gracefully to her bare feet, following him to her door. "You do remind me a bit of my brother… I'm glad you came to talk."

"I am too," he said honestly. Even if it had started as a gesture to prove his apology to his roommate. "I'll see you tomorrow."

She hummed agreement as he stepped out to the hall. "And Arthur?" He looked back to see her leaning on her door. "You can stay for the class. If you want."

He didn't hold his grin back at all. "All right, then."

…..*….. …..*….. …..*….. …..*….. …..*…..

The new teacher was as good as his word. On Friday – during his own lunch time, Freya realized – he came to her door.

Giving that sheepish half-smile to her disconcerted class – and a courteous almost-formal greeting to her – he waited through her role-taking. Then embarked upon a very thorough and thoughtful apology, explaining his ignorance without excusing it, describing – though not in detail – their subsequent conversation. And basically, as he'd said, warned them seriously and soberly on the dangers of jumping to conclusions, acting on partial and imperfect information.

By the end of the little speech – feeling off-the-cuff but probably conscientiously considered beforehand – Freya saw that her class was relaxed, attentive and agreeable toward him. Personally, and as the school's current live-in example of ordinary folk.

As Arthur spoke, Freya's eyes were drawn to the doorway. Merlin lurked there silently, arms crossed over his chest, watching his roommate from an angle invisible to the rest of the class. His expression was unreadable from the shadow – though she didn't think he noticed her attention – until Arthur expressed his intention of staying for the entirety of the class period, in the interests of furthering his understanding.

Then Merlin took half a step forward, straightening and dropping his arms, his face a picture of astonishment. As Arthur finished and moved to take one of the vacant student seats off to the side, Merlin shifted his gaze to her as if he'd felt her regard sub-consciously all along, still with his eyebrows up in that expression of, _What? he just said… what?_

She couldn't help smiling a bit triumphantly, proud of their ordinary teacher. Proud of Merlin for making a good bit of the difference by befriending Arthur – and of herself, for using her rarely-exercised courage to connect with him, at least on a human level.

Merlin's face split immediately into a wide grin of his own for her, attributing the compassionate behavior of his roommate to her cooperation. Wide and happy and proud, and she had to look away then, feeling her face warm and her heart accelerate just enough to catch her breathe in her throat.

She did love him. And maybe Arthur was right, that it was high time for her to begin to act on that, if Merlin wasn't going to…

…..*….. …..*….. …..*….. …..*….. …..*…..

Merlin must have been lurking. And Arthur wondered briefly if Freya had _known_. For his roommate hailed him just as he'd cleared the doorway of the classroom – having lingered for a last private word with Freya – and turned for the stair.

"Arthur!"

The fact that he'd jumped, startled, was probably obvious, but Merlin had the grace – in the moment – not to point it out, instead stepping alongside Arthur to join him wordlessly in entering the stairwell. Three and a half minutes through the five-minute passing period, there were half the kids there usually were, and all heedlessly rushing to get to class on time.

"Have you made plans for tomorrow?" Merlin asked, halfway up the first flight of the staircase.

"Um," Arthur said. "Lesson plans?"

Merlin made a contemplative noise. "How long will that take you? I thought maybe we could… walk down into town. Look around a little. Have lunch at my friend's café?... my treat."

They'd reached the top of the stair, and Arthur deliberately turned his head to glance down either direction of the wing of the building that intersected the corridor that his classroom was at the end of, to hide his initial reaction from the younger man.

Because it was, very nearly joy. Merlin must have forgiven him _truly_ for how Arthur had treated his best friend, if he was offering to introduce him to a new one of that small circle. Whether that decision was made because of the progress Arthur had made with Freya, or for reasons entirely separate, probably didn't matter.

 _I'm back in!_ He scoffed at himself, _ridiculous_.

Hadn't felt this particular emotion for a long time, though. Earning someone's trust back. Hadn't happened often. Usually people didn't offer a second time – which said a lot about both Merlin and Freya. And the quality of their friendship.

"I can probably be done around ten, ten-thirty," he said neutrally. And finish whatever he didn't get to, that night or the second week-end day. He turned toward his classroom; the bell would ring any minute, and he'd walk in just that much late to his own class. Not that it mattered.

"Good. We can leave right after my morning rounds then," Merlin said, sounding pleased. He didn't follow Arthur, instead peeling off toward the library and gym. "Hope you have a good afternoon."

"Yeah, you too."

Arthur couldn't help smiling to himself as he picked up his step, down the deserted hall where the bell echoed from gunmetal-blue lockers. The class with Freya had gone well, and it was very interesting, too. Lots more to shape-shifting than just exploding into another bodily form. It had Arthur considering whether he should sacrifice his lunch and free afternoon period to sit in on other classes – maybe with other teachers, too.

Maybe Merlin's work ethic was starting to rub off on him. Which, considering the sort of schedule Leon was used to organizing for his days in DC, was a significant commentary in itself.

Almost to his classroom, his casual-dress shoes nearly silent on the carpet, Arthur was startled again.

Hard on his left, one of the lockers _glowed_ briefly. Then cussed, in a teenage boy's broken, frustrated tones. And the door rattled.

"Hey," Arthur said – into a sudden silence. "It's Mr. Arthur. You need some help?"

Pause. Then, muffled but sullen, "You can't help. You're _ordinary_."

"Hm," Arthur said, still feeling too cheerful to mind. "This your locker? What's your combination?"

Longer pause. Grudgingly, "Eleven, twenty-two, seventeen."

Arthur spun the dial forward-back-forward again, and lifted the metal latch. One of the freshman, a scrawny boy named Jonas, unfolded himself from its depths, defiant but avoiding Arthur's eyes.

"There you go," Arthur said. Then, curiously, "Why didn't you… holler for Merlin?" Or however those wrist-charms worked.

"Didn't want to bother him," the boy mumbled. Probably embarrassed at his predicament, and frustrated because he couldn't magic himself out.

Arthur _re_ considered. Freshman. Maybe very new to magic. New to the school. He said, "Your friends tell you Merlin's cool, right?"

Jonas shrugged. Like maybe he hadn't made very many, yet. Or hadn't had the opportunity to decide for himself, if Merlin was cool.

"Patience and optimism," Arthur suggested. "You'll find a friend. And in the meantime, make a few. Be a friend, yourself, to someone else who might need it." The boy snorted softly and grimaced, and Arthur cuffed his shoulder gently. It was the sort of lesson to be learned, rather than taught; he turned for his classroom.

"Um. Mr. Arthur?" The boy pointed up toward the ceiling.

Where a school-issue black backpack was stuck, somehow – oh, right, _magic_ – to the ceiling tiles. Arthur judged whether he could jump and catch it and pull it down – whether it would come down by pulling, or only with magic.

"Ah," he said lamely. "Can't help you with that, probably. But – oh, I _can_ …" He pulled a pen from his pocket. "Got a piece of paper?"

The boy turned to rummage in his locker, ripped a sheet of notebook paper loose to hand to Arthur. He folded and wrote on it.

"Hall pass," he said, handing it back and capping his pen. "At least you won't get in trouble for being late to your next class. And –" as another idea struck – "if you can't find Merlin, who really would be pleased as punch to help with something that doesn't involve smoke or sewage – " the boy grinned, and ducked his head quickly to hide it – "you could ask Miss Lacosta. She teaches spell-casting, right, and she's got a free period."

The boy rubbed the paper contemplatively between his fingers.

"You'll get used to it, I swear," Arthur added wryly.

"What? The magic?" the boy challenged.

Arthur grinned. "High school. And, it doesn't last forever."

This time the smile wasn't hidden, though the boy turned to begin backing away. "Thanks, Mr. Arthur."

"No problem. Rite of passage. A time of life we all have to survive."

He kept his smile, though a pain vibrated through his chest because… Morgana hadn't. But it did help, as Gaius had suggested, being able to help another young person in the same sort of identity crisis.

Arthur found his classroom in a state of controlled chaos – dozens of conversations, but no shouting or crying, and everyone was in their assigned seats.

And, there was a cafeteria tray on his desk. Still steaming. Arthur's stomach pinched and rolled at the smell, and he smiled.

He was forgiven.

Though maybe the lunch tray was also, one-time thing.

…..*….. …..*….. …..*….. …..*….. …..*…..

Arthur was in a decent mood, after patching things up with both Freya and Merlin. Looking forward to exploring a bit of Culpeper on the morrow, too. He found he didn't care to sit down to his computer or class-planning, after the narrowly-escaped violence in the classroom, and the reminder of how a young magic-user's life could be terrifying and inadvertently dangerous. It made him think of Morgana.

So he went walking the school grounds. The weather was crisp and cloudy, the students beginning to relax for the weekend. He kept his eye out for Merlin – who remained evidently busy elsewhere – on his way to George Valiant's greenhouse. He found it just where George said it would be, cloudy glass wall sections, angled roof sections, door left standing open in still-balmy autumn weather.

Arthur stuck his head inside, inhaling a dozen flower-and-foliage scents at once, wet and earthy, and called out. "Hello? George?"

A head popped up between two side rows - long battered tables holding trays and shallow beds of plants, seedling through mature – a couple dozen yards down. Short grizzled hair, once-muscular body sagging past middle toward old age. "Ah, Mr. Pendragon. Welcome to my greenhouse – what can I do for you? Would you like a tour? I have twenty-three varieties in full bloom, and the herb-beds for Mr. Muirden's class are looking surprisingly well for the season."

"Arthur," he said, trying to smile, "is fine. And no, I'm not sure I have time for that today. Maybe another time. I was just passing, and thought I'd stop by… everything looks great. Very green. You enjoy this job more than your last?"

George made his way toward Arthur down the row, absently reaching to pluck browned leaves, stopping to untangle vines. "I do, actually. Much simpler to care for plants than young magic-users. And green things appreciate the care, and respond… No, I'm glad young Emrys is security officer. Does a good job, from what I see. A bit too invested, if I may offer a professional opinion."

"He does do a good job," Arthur said, his opinion differing because his experience with such people at ordinary high school and college was different. But it wasn't necessary to enter a debate, not when he was looking to coax answers from the man. "I imagine it can be very trying, emotionally. The unexpected happening at all hours of the day or night. Panicky kids to calm down."

George Valiant's gray eyebrows rose fractionally, and he blinked. But said nothing.

"I mean, I suppose accidents happen," Arthur continued, a bit disconcerted by the lack of response. "Alice is a very good nurse –"

"The best," George agreed, nodding.

"I just wondered, if things ever got… out of hand. Serious injuries, or… deaths?"

George blinked again. Slowly, phlegmatically. "I suppose," he allowed impassively, and if he was thinking about any casualty in particular – Morgana? – Arthur couldn't tell. "But we mustn't gossip."

Arthur felt his mouth pull sideways. "Because I'm ordinary?"

"Because you're new. If you stay, you'll learn…" The aging groundskeeper shrugged. "Shit happens."

And that, Arthur thought ruefully, was probably all he was going to get from George Valiant. Dull, as Merlin had said. Unimaginative and disinclined to connect – the polar opposite of Arthur's roommate.

"Makes for good fertilizer though, huh?" Arthur tried. George's expression didn't change. "Never mind. Have a nice evening – your greenhouse is lovely."

The groundskeeper send an involuntary glance around, a smile now beginning to show. "Thanks very much, Mr. Pendragon. Stop by anytime."

From the greenhouse, Arthur could see the headmaster's cottage – but no lights were on, and Gaius was not in sight. Still in his office, Arthur presumed, turning his own steps back toward the clustered brick buildings of the campus.

He doubted that any of the teachers, ten years ago, would be any better informed or inclined to answer his questions, than Alice Manning and George Valiant. Both of whom were politely resistant to someone they probably saw as a curious but well-meaning stranger – but he couldn't think that answers would be more forthcoming if he said, _I'm Morgana's brother, could I just ask you_ … Was there any way to phrase those questions that wouldn't carry any hint of accusation or blame whatsoever?

 _How well did you know my sister. Did you have any idea that she intended to self-harm. Is there any reason to suspect someone else might be involved, or share a measure of responsibility._

Nope. It wasn't going to happen – but neither was he going to give up, his primary purpose in coming to Lone Oak. He'd have to think of some other avenue of inquiry to pursue…


	8. When Arthur Met Gwen

**A/N: Warnings for fluff, this chapter. Some Arthur &Merlin fluff, a bit more Arwen… But remember, fluff goeth before angst…**

 **Chapter 8: When Arthur Met Gwen**

Nearly October. Midmorning Saturday, and the weather was gorgeous. Sunny but cool, and not a cloud in the sky.

Arthur stood with his hands in his jeans pockets and inhaled, rocking on his toes on the curb and waiting for his roommate. Finding that he was actually looking forward to this outing.

Taking the trip to visit Morgana's grave had been good for him. Hard, but good, even though it had set him back in his weeks' work, enough that he felt he hadn't paid much attention to figuring out what he'd really come here to figure out. And then the thing with Freya. And his decision to audit some of the other classes on his free-not-really-free periods.

He could admit to understanding the reasoning of a freshman or struggling sophomore, to find the idea of ending it all, somewhat attractive at low points. If old friends were lost over the realization of magic, and none gained in return. If family – like Arthur's own father – wasn't supportive. Except… Morgana had been a _senior_.

But last night, after George Valiant's obtuseness, he'd gotten a different idea. Roommates.

After this month spent with Merlin, it did seem likely that a roommate would be just as memorable as a friend; that one or more girls might have been both. So Arthur had emailed the headmaster. Would it be possible to check old records for the names of students Morgana was assigned – or requested – to room with? He might have as many as eight names to research and follow and – hopefully – find, but it was as good a place to start as any.

Unfortunately, it was the weekend, and he hadn't heard back. Gaius' cottage was on school grounds, lower down and out of sight, but there weren't official office hours and Arthur hesitated to trespass on the old man's privacy uninvited.

"Gorgeous day!" Merlin greeted the world behind him.

Arthur turned as the side door of the dormitory whooshed quietly closed behind the school's head of security. Merlin wore a faded denim-blue t-shirt with his jeans, sporting the Superman logo across his chest – and a cheeky grin when Arthur raised his eyebrow at the self-advertisement.

"Smell that oak!" he continued, enthusiasm unabated.

"Smell _something_ ," Arthur grunted meaningfully, pretending an ill humor that only spread Merlin's grin wider.

The long-legged younger man stepped down from the curb and headed across the great green lawn, straight for the distant gate of the campus, rather than following the drive curving to their left, past the Hill – that Arthur had learned to capitalize mentally – or to their right, which led eventually past George's greenhouse and Gaius' cottage.

Arthur caught up with him and matched his stride comfortably. "Just us? Freya's not coming?"

"She's doing some tutoring today. Kid named Jonas. I don't know him very well yet."

Arthur smiled to himself at the last word, and its implications. "You don't have a car then? Do you teleport anytime you want to go further than a walk – or faster than a run?"

"No, the magic is only for emergencies," Merlin explained, lifting his hand to shade his eyes as he glanced something golden toward the student-dotted Hill, a good hundred yards distant – and getting further as they walked. Evidently there was no cause for concern; his rangy gait continued unchecked. "See, a lot of magic is essentially comprised of short-cuts, and the power for any particular act comes from the magic-user, or sometimes from outside forces of energy."

"That's Aglain's discipline, isn't it," Arthur said. "The magic of different elements of nature."

"Yep. What it means for teleportation is, I can move within school grounds pretty easily, it takes as much energy out of me as running from one place to the next, say. A bit more demanding than telekinesis. I could rearrange Gaius' office all day, feel a bit like a mover does by nighttime, then do it again the next day. But the larger the object and the farther you move it, or the greater the distance you 'port, the more energy it takes out of you when the action of magic is complete."

"What about other forms of magic, then?" Arthur asked, following Merlin's line of sight and wave, to send a wordless greeting of his own to George – knee-deep in the roses, floppy hat in place and gloved hands holding pruning shears suspended to respond to them. "Like what Freya does, or that purple fog."

"You saw that?" Merlin said wryly. "Not a bad sample of magic, actually – might have some application in the special effects industry, maybe… But that sort of magic, that doesn't have an ordinary equivalent, is different. It's more like, a skill or talent. Like the muscles of a pro athlete or the discipline of a master painter. Hard and tiring to begin to learn, but easier and less demanding as a user gets good at it."

"That makes sense, I guess," Arthur said.

"Is that a bit of damning with faint praise?" Merlin asked, but his smile quirked wide and humorous; they walked through the space between the brick pillars separating the school drive from the lane. "So now you know _all_ about Lone Oak," sarcasm acknowledging the exaggeration, "what about you, then?"

"What about me?" Arthur said. Not defensively, but a bit self-consciously. Their conversations had centered around the school – the job itself, the kids, the other staff, various common-knowledge incidents. What was there in his DC life that someone like Merlin would find interesting?

"Well… how many cars do you own?"

"That depends – you mean me, personally, or corporately? Because the hotels each have a small motor pool, that I inherited –"

Merlin interrupted with a rude noise, but he was grinning. "You can only drive one at a time, you know."

"Mostly I don't even do that," Arthur admitted, shoving his hands in his pockets. Merlin's attitude toward his Inheritance was refreshingly irreverent and completely unselfish. "Leon drives for me."

"Leon?"

And Arthur found himself walking down the shady leaf-strewn lane, toward the white-washed buildings of Culpeper, regaling his surprisingly-fascinated new friend with stories of his three oldest ones. And Merlin quested after more information, asking nearly insatiable questions and laughing heartily at Arthur's anecdotes – but with empathy for the absent strangers, rather than unkindness.

It gave Arthur an idea. "Do you ever leave Lone Oak? I mean, to go beyond Culpeper?"

"Sure." Merlin shrugged, kicking a bit of pavement from the side of the road into the ditch. "I visit my mother in the summer. She lives up the Valley in West Virginia."

"What about during the winter break? Over the holidays?"

"Usually just here," Merlin said, and added defensively to Arthur's grimace, "Gaius and Alice and Freya are my family, too."

Arthur grunted skeptically. "That's how you see Freya? As a sister?"

"I don't know. I never had a sister."

Was it Arthur's imagination, or was his roommate being deliberately evasive, gazing away toward the hills the town rolled gently over. He said, "Well, _my_ sister and I fought like cats and dogs –"

"Woof," Merlin said with a cheeky grin, reminding Arthur of Freya's creature form also.

Arthur shoved him out of step; so much for playing matchmaker, but he could still tease. "Fine, then. But I think it's too damn bad a beauty like her – and sweet and gentle – is single."

Instead of responding immediately defensive, Merlin was _quiet_. Then said, contemplatively, "You like her?"

"Not like _that_ ," Arthur snorted.

Merlin frowned at him. "Why not?"

"Why not. Geez, Merlin – _Thursday_?" His friend's steady regard prompted him to continue. "And because… because she doesn't deserve someone like me, who can't really understand her, and would ask her to move to the middle of the big city if there was to be any future for the relationship. And I'm a bit past the age when hormones overtake those kinds of rational considerations. I'm not looking for just-for-fun, anymore."

"Hm," Merlin said, gaze still fixed on distant green roofs and reflective shop windows.

"Anyway," Arthur said, returning to his original idea. "Why don't you come see the big city over the winter break? At least a few days."

Merlin stopped, eyebrows up in astonishment and something like hesitant hope.

"I know a guy who owns a hotel," Arthur said, trying to pull his grin back and failing somewhat. "Free room service to the second penthouse suite."

Merlin scoffed… but.

Arthur added, "And Leon will take all your money in poker, and Gwaine will drink you under the table, and Percival will pick you back up again in the morning."

"Wow, what an offer," Merlin said sarcastically, grinning.

 _But_. Arthur waited…

"If," Merlin said. "If the rest of the semester… If there aren't any problems among the students that… Depending, maybe, on the number of them that stay over the…"

"A qualified yes?" Arthur said. He knew he was pushing, when their friendship still wasn't firm, like what he enjoyed with the three he'd left in DC, but getting past Thursday's disaster with Freya gave him hope. And he did rather want the friendship. He wanted to give Merlin what he'd been given by his Three Musketeers, and earn in return what Merlin didn't seem to give away quite as freely as conversation or smiles.

Merlin allowed, "A qualified yes." Fighting his expression of pleasure in friendship, as if he was still afraid to hope, and losing.

And then, he jumped and flung out one hand in a gesture of surprise. And the charm bound against the inside of his left wrist was glowing.

Arthur had a brief, clear thought – resentment on behalf of his young friend – that those bits were a lot like handcuffs. Chains shackling him to the responsibilities of his job. Too much for someone so young? Arthur wasn't sure he'd allow it, were this his business to run, much less require it… and wondered a bit, about the canny old headmaster.

"Oh, for the love of – magic!" Merlin exclaimed, spinning to face back up the lane, though the brick buildings of Lone Oak's campus were out of sight beyond a subtle curve and a staggered row of younger oaks and maples. He shook his forearm and the shining ornament in aggravation. "Are you kidding me? Not even one damn day?"

"We've gotta go back?" Arthur said.

"No, only me." Merlin turned to him, but started to backpedal toward the school. "You keep going. Down this lane, take a left at the main road, can't miss the café. Salt and CulPepper. Tell Gwen I sent you? And I'll see you later… Sorry…"

"Don't worry about it," Arthur said. "Go be you."

Merlin flashed him a grin, whirled on the ball of one foot and took off at a sprint. Arthur watched him a moment – after about a hundred yards, he vanished mid-step.

Arthur sighed. And thought, if he returned now to the school, even to get work done, Merlin would ask, and he couldn't lie, and his friend would feel bad that his work emergency cut Arthur's day short, also.

So he made his own one-eighty, and headed for the white-clapboard businesses of Culpeper's Main Street.

Past the wooden school sign, down the remaining quarter mile of the academy's lane, intersecting Main Street at the brow of a hill. Left was down a long lazy slope, ribboned with streets branching out in a lackadaisical southern-country manner. Diagonal alleys and private apartments atop the street-front businesses – one large open lot for a used car enterprise, another for an antique mall that retreated from a narrow entrance on the street. Single-family homes crowding up to the trades, mingling structures in establishments like the _Sunny DayCare_ and the _Hair We Are_.

And the _Salt and CulPepper_.

Nearly three-quarters of the way up the opposite hill, but the slope was gentle on Arthur's leg muscles, the traffic unhurried and the few people he passed, friendly.

"Mawnin'," they said.

Arthur smiled and nodded, and nobody bothered further than the cordial impersonal greeting.

The café itself had a Kelly-green Dutch front door, the color echoed on the short fringed awning that shaded the sidewalk, relieved in a classy-picturesque way by wide white stripes. A white picket fence separated the sidewalk from a side patio; half a dozen round four-person tables offered al fresco munching under beach umbrellas that matched-and-contrasted the front awning in white with a wide green band at the edge.

Five of the tables were spoken for, the nearest occupied by a trio of ladies that were probably sisters, late fifties or early sixties. Brunch half over, it looked like – or early lunch, maybe; Arthur glanced at his watch and found it a quarter to twelve. Three of the other tables supported laptops amid cups and dishes, one singly and two in couples.

It was the waitress that caught Arthur's eye. She wore a long ruffled skirt in layered horizontal stripes of fabrics with competing patterns, but similar tan-apricot-green colors. The short green apron that almost matched, made the skirt hug her hips before flaring to her ankles, paired with a confidently-but-not-offensively tight white t-shirt, sleeves high on brown shoulders and neckline scooped – _I'm-young_ but not _I'm-easy_.

Her hair, though. Black and curly, by the tendrils that veiled her ear and brushed her nape, but the length was hidden because it was pinned up in an enchantingly old-fashioned way.

Not Arthur's type. Almost to a girl, he'd dated fair-skinned blondes since he was old enough to filch his father's keys. But there was something in the way she stood, one hand on her hip and the other gesturing while she spoke. No tablet or pen in sight, Arthur noticed, and knew from experience, the very best waitresses worked from excellent short-term memories because every order was personal to them.

Something about the way the three sister-ladies, at least one generation if not two removed from their young server, hung on her words. Genuinely engaged in the conversation – which passed to one of the three seated customers as Arthur watched, and the dark-haired waitress was evidently as attentive a listener as she was an interesting speaker.

"S'cuse me," someone said, passing Arthur.

It startled him into twisting around to check he wasn't in someone's way; an elderly man shambled down the sidewalk past the café, a sad-eyed Boxer lolling its tongue at his heels.

Arthur smiled, liking the small town in the same way that he liked running the hotel that he owned personally, and that his father had never understood. For Uther, it was about the bottom line, the Armani's and the board rooms. For Arthur, it was about the people, guests and employees.

Without looking back toward the patio, he opened the green Dutch door – cowbell attached to the top of the inside, and stepped up into the café.

Open floor plan, busy without being rushed or noisy. Booths lining the walls, tables in the middle, soda fountain and condiments rack dividing the seating area into a main two-thirds and a more private one-third. Cash register where orders were given and received on trays, ice cream cooler on one side, bakery display on the other. Behind that counter, a long narrow order window opened to the kitchen which currently employed at least two cooks, above a second counter filled with specialty-drinks apparatus.

One simple menu was posted above the cashier's register, a second more detailed coffee-and-tea selection behind; the day's specials chalked on a blackboard set on an artist's easel tastefully concealed the entrance to the restrooms. The chalkboard's corners were artistically embellished with a representation of what Arthur thought were magnolias. A middle-aged woman with gray showing in wavy brown hair minimally tamed by a green ball-cap leaned over a table to wipe its far corners, gathering abandoned bits of trash in her other hand.

It was charming. He smiled as he looked around, and was surprised to recognize two of the teen groups perched in booths near the far corner, Mordred and Kara among them.

Another cowbell tinkled, catching his attention in case he was standing in someone's way again. But it was the side door, and the waitress coming back in. Her face was round, her dark eyes bright, and her smile wide and welcoming.

"Mawnin'," she said. "Help ya with something?"

"I'm looking for Gwen?" he said.

She paused on the point of entering the between-counters serving area. "You're in luck, then – that's me."

He moved closer, aware of the curious glances of café patrons – and noticed stud earrings of square black crystal, and beaded flip-flops on her feet. Toenails painted green. Young, to be the owner of such a place.

"Merlin said to tell you…" he began, but she interrupted him with fresh enthusiasm that was also an immediate degree more personal.

"Oh, you must be _Arthur_! Merlin's friend – roommate – the new teacher!" She closed the distance between them before he could react, guiding him to the booth nearest the side door with her open palm against the side of his elbow. "I've been looking forward to meeting you – how come he didn't bring you himself?"

Arthur obeyed her urging to slide into the bench seat. A brown that was homey and comfortable, the tabletop clean, green-flecked white. She scooted in across from him, leaning forward over the table and he was aware of delicate collarbones and creamy brown skin above her neckline, even as he kept his eyes on her face.

"We started out together," Arthur explained, "but there was an emergency – those alarm-charms he wears on his wrists."

"And never will explain how they work, or tell you what's happened," she added, rolling her eyes slightly to complain about her friend – but in a way that said, the relationship was genuine and solid. A way that included Arthur, assuming his understanding of and affection for, the young man in question.

He could see why both Freya and Merlin liked Gwen. He wondered if either of them had or would tell her what he'd nearly done to Freya.

"You've been busy, too, since the semester started?" she said questioningly. "How has that been going? You've never taught before, and you're not magic, right?"

"It's something like a temporary assignment," he allowed. "I'm not thinking of changing my profession."

"Yet?" she asked slyly, with a lift of one dark brow.

Before he could respond, the cow-bell drew her attention away to the door, and half a dozen people filed in, with another half-dozen kids satelliting around them – and the noise level in the café doubled.

"Oh my gosh," she said – but with eager willingness rather than resentment. Rising to meet the challenge – literally. "Promise me you won't sneak out of here while my back is turned. I want to _talk_ – and your drinks are on the house, today. Merlin's discount on food, just holler at me what you want. Start you with a -?"

"Cappuccino?" he said. "Vanilla, half coffee?"

"Give me two minutes," she promised.

Her skirt flared as she spun past the du-jour chalkboard, to field the chatter and orders and corrections of the incoming customers. One party or more? he couldn't quite decide, but Gwen remained cheerful and energetic and efficient, in a way he admired. Raising her own voice to holler back into the kitchen, some kind of short-hand code he couldn't decipher, handling more than one drinks-cup at once, filling the trays with never a hesitation or mistake or spill or drop.

In the middle of it all - he missed her actually doing it – a covered styrofoam cup appeared at the side of the counter. Five minutes, not two, but she was back at his booth as her happy customers dispersed with drinks to await their food.

"How are the kids?" she said, setting his cup down, but not seating herself. "The students, I mean."

"The kids are great, mostly," he said. "One or two challenges. Merlin told you I'm teaching math? so that can be difficult and frustrating til the light goes on."

"What about the Government class?" One eyebrow quirked again. "I can imagine emotions might run high for a subject like that, especially with you being ordinary."

"Yeah," he said feelingly. "But I think we've established a basic respect and a workable structure of debate."

"That's good," she said encouragingly. "That's important. Back in a minute."

And left Arthur wondering how in the world she'd known her cook had slid several ready plates into the order window, with her back to it.

He sipped his cappuccino – good, hot, flavorful, not professional like he was used to in the city, but fresh-clean-competent, like the vibe the rest of the place radiated. He was prepared to finish the drink, catch her between customers and excuse himself to leave, but.

She returned to his table again not ten minutes later with a small Coke and a generous order of fries topped with two kinds of melted cheese and crumbled _real_ bacon.

"My brother Elyan is one of our cooks today," she said, setting the plate in front of him without preamble. "He's part-time, going to Germanna community college for a degree in business. Anyway. These are only about half as bad for you as they look and smell."

"What does that even mean?" he said teasingly.

She rolled her eyes and didn't answer his question. "Half-price like I said, for a friend of Merlin's – and do you wanna try the fried okra?"

"Oh hell no," he said without thinking.

The owner of the establishment and sister of the cook _giggled_. And said, "What is it with men and vegetables? Bowl of soup, then?"

"What is it, for the sake of curiosity?" he asked.

"Italian Wedding soup," she told him. "Sausage and pasta and cough-veggies-cough?"

"Sounds interesting – yeah, I'll try it." He grinned, reaching for his first fry.

She came twice more before he finished them, asking insightful and considerate questions about his time at Lone Oak, staying attentively through his answers. How was he adjusting to the magic. Was it a difficult thing to go back to dorm life if he'd already achieved success and independence years ago when his own schooling was finished.

No sooner was the last fry gone, chasing the last smear of surprisingly flavorful cheese around the plate, than she was bringing him a bowl of the Italian Wedding soup and this time sat down across from him. "Now," she said. "Tell me about DC."

"Aren't you going to eat?" he asked – it was ten to one by the clock on the wall.

She glanced down at his bowl. "Later," she said. "Breakfast is early, lunch late, dinner late."

"Every day?" He tried the soup, and almost forgot what he'd said. Delicious. Amazing, for a small-town café.

"Tuesday to Saturday. Sunday and Monday are slower, so I'm off. Always close by, though." He handed her the half-roll of crusty warm-buttered bread from the side of the plate his bowl sat on, which she accepted without hesitation or self-consciousness – as if she saw him as an extension of Merlin, the friend of her friend – and bit into it, speaking almost unintelligibly. "Mm. DC."

"You've never been?" he asked, slurping more soup, taste warring with temperature.

"Well, yeah. Visiting. Touring. What's it like to live there?"

So he talked and she listened, drawing him into depth and significance by interest and inquiry. He found himself confessing, even though there were benefits to that life, there was also much that he simply put up with. Not driving his own car, for one, because he had enjoyed his trip into their countryside.

"I'm with you there," Gwen said, licking butter off her fingers – he couldn't help watching – and reaching for a paper napkin from the holder. "Elyan drives our dad's Ford to Germanna – it's about fifteen miles, but I don't use it much. We grew up in Culpeper, and I can get just about anywhere I need to, walking. I kind of like the time it takes, and the fresh air. And running into people."

Arthur would bet she knew the name of the old man who'd passed on the sidewalk, and his Boxer.

"Your dad's Ford?" he said. "He doesn't use it much, himself?"

She slid to the edge of the bench as the front door opened on more customers again, reaching to wrap her fingers around his wrist – warm and strong and callused, the brown looking funny in a nice way against his own lighter skin. "My dad passed away a year and a half ago," she told him. "This place was his. I pretty much grew up here – I sometimes still catch myself turning to ask him a question like he's the one making the soup. I'll bring you a lime water – don't leave yet?"

Arthur watched her go, contemplating lifting his soup bowl to catch the last few drops of broth. Contemplating the coincidence of finding such common ground in such a place. He was proud of Gwen for taking over her father's business, successfully and cheerfully. He wondered if she was ever plagued by the same doubts as he was, in the small wakeful hours of oh-dark-thirty – that he wouldn't please and satisfy his family, wouldn't do justice to the work of his father's and grandfather's lives. That he couldn't.

That he didn't really want to.

As the minute hand crawled half past the hour and continued toward two o'clock, business died down a bit to an occasional parent-child combination on a doughtnut-and-hot-chocolate or ice-cream-cone quest. Gwen grinned and flapped a cleaning rag at him when he shifted to get up – then whisked about, helping the older woman catch up the bussing. He watched the two discuss him with teasing glances and quick, muffled giggles, and didn't really mind.

Then a young man in worn jeans and a gray t-shirt came out from what Arthur assumed was a door to the kitchen, hidden at the back of the smaller section of the dining room. His skin tone was darker than Gwen's, hair _much_ shorter and more tightly curled, but this was clearly Elyan, her brother.

Gwen intercepted him for a moment, then led him toward Arthur, who stood to be introduced. Elyan was quiet and watchful… strained and wary were perhaps too strong. Familiar with Merlin and Freya, but not as close to either as his sister seemed.

He looked at Arthur differently, as Gwen explained them each to the other, and Arthur understood it. Younger brother could sometimes be older brother, especially if father wasn't around. He smiled to reassure Elyan, holding his evaluating gaze, and the younger man gave him a single nod of initial approval.

"He's off to class," Gwen finished, pulling her little – taller – brother down for a teasing kiss on his cheek, grudgingly accepted.

"Good luck," Arthur said. "Nice to meet you."

Elyan shook his hand and nodded. Said to Gwen, "Working late?"

"I don't know yet. Ilsa might still be sick."

"All right. I'm home at nine-thirty."

"See ya," she said, and watched him leave with an expression that made Arthur miss Morgana, suddenly. She looked back at him before he could control the reaction, and saw something of it. "What is it?" she asked with quiet concern.

He shook his head, trying to smile it off for a new acquaintance. "Nothing. You seem to have a good relationship with your brother – I'm glad for that."

She sighed, and grimaced. "Wasn't always," she said. "I was a boring kid – never got in trouble, never wanted to."

The other woman set the last armful of napkin holders on a nearby table and made a noise to catch her attention – a wordless wave of dismissal and a sly wink of significance toward Arthur. Gwen only grinned and waved back – and continued talking as she went behind the counter to pull out a long package of napkins, master salt-and-pepper canisters.

"My parents desperately wanted Elyan to be like me, and he desperately wanted to be different. Something happened in my senior year – in the community, in my life – and between that and my mother's death in a car accident the following year, Elyan's perspective really changed."

She returned to the table and began to refill the napkin dispensers. Someone else was back in the kitchen – cleaning, maybe. Arthur straddled one of the chairs at that table and reached for one of the salt shakers. She gave him a surprised-grateful smile, and showed him how to open it without comment.

"I'm sorry about your mother," he offered. "That must have been a really hard time for you."

"I was closer to my dad," she admitted, hands flying and eyes on her work. "We both loved this place. Mom thought he ought to franchise… What's your family like? Missing you out here in Virginia? Happy for your new job, or worried?"

"No family, anymore." He tried to say it lightly, but she gave him a _look_ that he ducked away from, pouring salt into shaker after shaker. "A pack of bachelor pals, that's all."

She was quiet for a moment, finishing her task, starting on the opposite end of the row of pepper shakers. "Why did you come to Lone Oak, then? If you don't mind me asking?"

So neither Merlin nor Freya had told that detail; he appreciated their discretion. "This spring I found out… a family member I hadn't seen for years – um, deceased family member… I found out she'd had magic." Gwen leaned her elbow on the table and rested her cheek against the inside of her fist. "And I… understand why I was never told, I think. But it felt like… I'd never really known her? So I came here to learn more about magic and the people who use it."

"As a way of reconnecting with her," she said.

He nodded, holding the gaze of her sympathetic dark eyes. Full lips parted on a soft inhalation, and she didn't look away from his face. "Who was she?"

"My sister."

"Oh," she sighed, beginning to understand. "Oh, Arthur, I'm so sorry."

Still didn't look away. And he felt heat rising under his skin like it hadn't in private female company since he was a teenager. He shifted his gaze slightly to the back of her left hand – ringless ring finger, though maybe that was a rule for food service? no, she wore one on the pinkie of that hand, a delicate silver daisy with a smooth blue-pink stone as its face, like a mood-ring, only not.

"That's a nice ring," he blurted, like a kid on his first date.

She didn't seem to notice his awkwardness, only lowered her hand – palm down, fingers spread – between them, to glance at it herself. "Merlin gave that to me."

Arthur's mouth was disconnected from his brain, that was the only explanation.

"Really?" he said, his inflection making implication obvious.

She gave him a _look_. "Not like that. Any idiot can see he's meant for Freya – though Merlin seems to be the one idiot who _can't_ see that – no, it's magic. He put a protection spell on it for me. My father wanted to pay him when he found out, but – how do you put a price on something like that?"

Arthur's hand moved across the space, and she let it. He held her hand delicately, trying to touch only the metal, and not quite succeeding. He couldn't help noticing how smooth her skin and strong her fingers and neat her nails. There was a tiny scar near the base of her thumb.

"How did you get that?" he asked, rubbing his thumb over it lightly.

She cleared her throat and made a face, but didn't reclaim her hand. "Trying to make friends with a farm cat when I was five. It looks a little like a lowercase _l_ , that's how I used to tell my left hand from my right."

He smiled, and let her go. "Would you like to see where I was tattooed?" She straightened slightly, her mouth dropping open. He added, "All right, we'll drive around that way."

Gwen laughed, her eyes dancing. "That's – wait, I know this one… I used to know this – a Hitchcock, right? Cary Grant and… the gal from Breakfast at Tiffany's."

"What a chick flick," he said. "Give me a quadruple-homicide mystery any day."

She stuck out her tongue, rising to begin putting the napkin holders on the right tables. He rose to help her, and a heavy-set middle-aged man with graying moustache brought in a curly-haired kindergartener lisping about a _chocolate thundae_.

Arthur finished rearranging the tables, and came to lean sideways on the counter as she handed the treat over to the excited child and doting grandfather.

"Don't mind me, I have a little cleaning to do," Gwen said, reaching a red half-gallon bucket from under the sink. Running water into it, she squirted disinfectant and rummaged for a rag.

"How did you meet Merlin and Freya?" he asked curiously, considering. Probably she wouldn't let him come behind the counter to help, even if it gave him something to do so he wouldn't feel like a lazy imposition on her work-day.

"You know," she said, gazing out the front glass and swishing the water in the bucket with the rag. "I'm not sure I remember. I was… really focused on my own problems those couple of years. I noticed the other kids from Lone Oak around town, or when they came in here, or whatever, but didn't really pay attention to all of them, you know? I didn't do what I thought I'd do, after graduation, so I was preoccupied with a late start getting classes at Germanna, and then my mom… Merlin and Freya were in one day, it was a weekend and I was… just, emotional. I argued with my dad in front of everybody – I told him I quit, and walked out."

She smiled at Arthur's raised-eyebrow expression of surprise. Hands still busy disassembling the drinks apparatus, rinsing, cleaning – stacking to dry.

"I made it as far as the back curb," Gwen continued. "Crying into my knees. And before I knew it, Freya was beside me with her arms around me and whispering how she missed her mother, too. And we balled our eyes out together and when we were done, it felt like we were sisters."

"And Merlin?" Arthur asked.

"And Merlin was just standing there when both of us finished sniffling and looked up. Hands in his pockets, boys are always awkward when girls are crying, but he was _there_ , he didn't just walk away. Freya introduced us then, though I'd seen him around – _you_ wouldn't guess it, but he used to be painfully shy before he figured out that if he was friendly, he could still hold folks at arms'-length and they didn't even realize it." She gave Arthur a sideways glance.

He said wryly, "Yeah, I've felt that friendly arms'-length treatment."

"Yet here you are," she said slowly. "Hm. Anyway, those two were like each others' shadows in those days, and it helped me get over myself to be friends with them."

"Third wheel, much?" Arthur suggested.

She shook her head. "It wasn't ever really romantic for them. A little more like… twins, maybe. On their own wavelength, and I'm not talking about telepathy, either. When he graduated – a year before she did – he left and we only heard from him sporadically. She was so anxious, but… still focused on finishing school, and sure that he'd come back, or that she would join him. She ended up rooming with me after she graduated, though, did some college work so she could take a teacher's position – like she knew that Dr. Gaius was going to convince Merlin to return, eventually. Nowadays, Freya at least wants it to be more, between them, but… he's kind of oblivious." Arthur rolled his eyes at the understatement, and she chuckled in agreement. "But she hesitates to tip the balance of the extraordinary friendship they've got."

"What about you?" Arthur said. "Is there a Mr. Salt-and-CulPepper?"

"Only Elyan," she sighed, entirely unself-conscious. "I don't date customers, and everyone's a customer."

Arthur was about to make a comment about narrow prospects, when his phone vibrated an incoming message, and he reached for his pocket. From Gaius. He opened it.

Four names, and the dates of four years, September to May, save for the last. Freshman to senior, the one that ended at the beginning of November.

"Huh," Arthur said out loud, a little surprised that Gaius had consented.

"Good news or bad?" Gwen asked casually, retrieving a spray bottle of cleaner and a pair of yellow rubber gloves from the cabinet beneath the counter sink.

"I don't know yet. I have something like a side project running, and I just got some information that'll help me move forward. I suppose I should… get back to the school. My laptop and internet access." He reached in his back pocket for his wallet.

She named his amount – which was lower than he'd expected, before he remembered, she'd said on the house, and Merlin's discount. But – off the top of her head, she knew that? He was impressed.

"We have wifi," she offered, handing him the receipt for his bank card. "Oh, but – you don't have your laptop with you. Never mind."

Her confusion was sweet. He said teasingly, " _Wifi_? _Here_?"

"We may look like a hole-in-the-wall place in a backwater town," Gwen responded in kind, "but this is the – what is it? twentieth or twenty-first century?"

He quipped, "You gotta drag yourself into the nineties."

"I know that one, too," she exclaimed. "That's a murder mystery, too, right? Chevy Chase. You like the old stuff."

"Old stuff," he protested. "Classics." She threw her head back, laughing at him and he couldn't help grinning. "Maybe I'll bring work with me next time, then. At least I won't have to deal with Merlin's smelly laundry on the floor, and your cooking is definitely better than his."

"Elyan's," she corrected. "I'll tell him you said so – he'll never let Merlin forget it."

"Crap," Arthur said.

She laughed, making her way out from behind the counter, lingering by the bathroom entrance with her cleaning supplies. "You shouldn't have said _that_. I have to clean the bathrooms now."

"Ask Merlin to help you," Arthur said, grinning and resolving to tell Gwen at least that much of Thursday, next time. He waved his hand and made a significant whooshing noise.

Gwen's eyebrows went up, and her dark eyes lit with happy fun. "He has done, a couple of times. You _know_ only a real friend will help you deal with faulty-plumbing emergencies."

"That must be why he's so good at it!" Arthur called, backing toward the Dutch door as she turned for the bathroom.

The sound of her laughter, like subtle mellow wind-chimes, stayed with him out the door and down the street toward Lone Oak's lane. Kept a smile on his face and a bounce in his step.

The next afternoon Arthur brought his laptop to the café, even though Gwen said she wouldn't be working. Merlin didn't come; he'd clutched at his hair and stared at his colored file folders and decided paperwork had to be done, and though it could be packed and carried with the assistance of magic, as Arthur had suggested, it couldn't be concentrated on in public. So Arthur left him in their room.

Seated in the same booth by the side door, he opened the laptop and accessed the internet and started in reverse chronological order – the last roommate's name first. That would help settle himself mentally to wait for replies – anticipating having to ask multiple times before getting something, if ever, other than suspicion from strangers, rudeness from ex-boyfriends, ex-employers, ex-landlords. Magic-users seemed a fairly private lot, which made it a lot more difficult, and he could see that it might take weeks… but it felt too personal to pass off to Leon's investigator.

And his, he found, wasn't continuous. Plenty of moments while he waited for the results of an internet search of records – and he found his eyes straying to the café's unique, vivacious owner, in at work because of another employee's illness, she told him. Green apron tied around carpenter jeans – frayed cuffs over her flip-flops, and a toe-ring – her _Salt and CulPepper_ t-shirt's baggy tail knotted behind her.

Once or twice, she glanced his way at the same time, and smiled. And brought him a cappuccino, the way he'd ordered it the previous day, and a bowl of soup.

"Dutch soup," she said.

"Are the soups kind of a special here?" he asked.

"It's the only thing Elyan lets me cook," she admitted. "Sometimes they're spectacular failures, but…" she shrugged.

He tasted. "This one is better than yesterday's, if possible."

Her cheeks bunched round and soft, her smile was so wide. "Well, it's the same selling price. I don't raise it unless I put something really fancy in, like fresh crabmeat."

"Mm," he said, "sounds good. But I'm not getting anything on the house, anymore?" That sort of teasing was risky, but she took to it immediately and laughed, backing to the counter where an older woman with gray roots and sagging skin and a gorgeous smile was manning the register. "One-time thing?" he added.

And that reference, she understood also. "I guess you haven't been friends with him long enough to realize, he says that but he doesn't stick to it!"

Arthur grinned as she turned to take the next customer's order, and faced his laptop to key in another search.

 **A/N: If anyone cares, the Hitchcock movie referenced is "Charade". The Chevy Chase one is "Foul Play".**


	9. The (Un)Rest of October

**Chapter 9: The (Un)Rest of October**

Another week passed, and when the weekend came, Arthur was back at the café with his laptop.

Gwen paused by the booth he'd claimed periodically, and they chatted, not running out of things to say because they'd already said so much to a new acquaintance, but finding more. She told him – described in detail, because he was genuinely interested – about the changes she'd made after her father's death. To the building itself, the menu, various policies. He talked in turn about the Marriott, and she was thoroughly unintimidated, asking insightful questions of her own.

And he realized something he hadn't before. She had plans for the future of her business endeavor, visions of expansion and addition and improvement. His plans for the hotel were all about maintaining. Something to think about and consider.

When Gwen waved to someone, he turned to see Merlin and Freya on the sidewalk outside the front of the café, the petite brunette tugging her taller friend past the door by his hand. Merlin looked down from his smile through the glass to them, at the linkage of their fingers, as if he was surprised by the contact. Then, followed her out of sight.

"They're so ridiculous," Gwen sighed, flashing Arthur a smile as she turned back to work.

By closing time on the third Sunday, he'd exhausted every avenue of inquiry, reluctantly admitted defeat, and crossed off the two most recent of the four named roommates. Of the third, the girl who'd lived with Morgana her sophomore year, he'd probably have to wait several days to hear.

He looked around to see that there was a 30's-ish couple still in their own booth, sipping drinks and cuddling toward each other over the table, but Merlin and Freya – though they'd stopped to say hi and share a drink - had left without him noticing, and Gwen had begun her cleaning routine. Arthur packed up his work and cleared his own table, coming to lean on the counter a moment.

"I thought you didn't work Sundays?"

"When Ilsa was sick," Gwen said, shrugging, "I decided I liked Tuesday off, better. Anyway, I'm off tomorrow, too."

"Monday," Arthur groaned. "Don't remind me."

"Should I think of you while I'm still cozy in my bed at quarter to eleven?" she said, smirking.

Arthur could _not_ help the thought that jumped into his mind. He bit his tongue, but it wasn't enough.

She caught on a half-second later, and her eyes grew huge. "Omigosh," she said faintly. "I did _not_ mean…"

He gave a martyr's sigh. "If you absolutely must think of me, I suppose I prefer the location of your bedroom to –"

"Arthur!" she said, scandalized – but at the same time, relieved that it hadn't gone awkward or embarrassed. "Whew," she said, fanning her blush away without trying to hide it – she was cute and funny and he decided, he liked her very much.

"Since you walk everywhere anyway," he suggested, "maybe I can walk you home? How much longer are you going to be busy here?"

"Not a chance," she said, responding to his first question. "Not after that comment."

"Oh, fine then," he sighed, grinning, and turned for the door. "See you next week!"

That night, Merlin was in the room when he arrived – at his desk with his student files. Facedown, and Arthur thought maybe asleep… til one bony shoulder dropped so Merlin could meet his eyes without sitting up

"Again or still?" Arthur asked. He locked the door behind him and set the carry-case of his laptop on his desk.

"Makes no difference," Merin declared, still not lifting his head from his desktop. He sounded cheerful enough, but his hair was disheveled as if he'd plucked at it in periodic exasperation all day, before falling asleep in that position. "October is almost as hard as September, around here. Halloween." Arthur only glimpsed the reasoning for that, though the 30th of October was still a couple of weeks and a handful of days off, before Merlin added, "You had a productive day?"

"Crossing items off lists," Arthur explained vaguely, toeing his feet out of his shoes. He hadn't described this project in detail to Merlin, either. Merlin who was swamped with his own work, but would probably offer to help anyway, and then Arthur would feel bad for rejecting him, even for the younger man's own good. "But no forward progress made."

Merlin grunted like he was paying Arthur less than half his attention, finally pushing upright and glaring down at the papers and forms that had been his pillow, punching the keyboard that had been shoved to the back of the desk to wake his computer, also. "It's late, I didn't realize. How was the walk?"

"Fine. Should have brought a flashlight." Arthur headed to the bedroom, beginning to peel off his shirt.

"Hm. How was Culpeper? The café?"

"She's fine." Arthur realized, tried to backpedal casually. "I mean, it was fine. Good soup – Black-bean, with this sprinkle of shredded mozzarella on top that added interesting flavor."

"Yes," Merlin said, and Arthur could hear his grin from the other room. "Yes, it is. However, if Elyan misses any pieces chopping you up for hamburger, I'll curse whatever's left."

Arthur leaned in the doorway. "And why would he chop me up for hamburger?" he challenged.

Merlin looked up from his computer – grin bright in spite of the dark circles under his eyes. "That's the attitude," he cheered. "Just you remember that, and there'll be no trouble."

Arthur grumbled something about _how many brothers does she need_ , and continued getting ready for bed. There was something significant in the way Merlin reacted to his interest in Gwen's friendship, and to his perceived interest in Freya, but Arthur couldn't quite figure what.

That next week he saw more than usual of Merlin, though actual interaction was diminished. The lanky black-haired security guard was often in their room when Arthur was, but usually sprawled on his bed or sometimes the couch. And snoring, though Arthur thought that a new and unusual development attributable to something else. A developing illness, maybe.

"Give me a curse for a roommate that snores," he coaxed one morning, handing Merlin the second cup of coffee from the countertop pot he'd set up on the sink in their side room. Two cream, two sugar.

"Sorry," Merlin said a bit hoarsely, and cleared his throat. "Think I'm coming down with something."

"I might move in with George for the week," Arthur threatened.

Merlin answered with only an uncharacteristically vague wave as he closed himself in the bathroom, and started the shower immediately.

By the weekend, though, the snoring had given way to brief but violent bouts of coughing, and Merlin refused to budge from the cocoon of his bed, even at the invitation of a ride in Arthur's car, down to the _Salt and CulPepper_.

"You go," came the muffled response.

Arthur made a skeptical noise, and detoured to Freya's room.

Her face fell slightly when she answered his knock, as though he wasn't who she was expecting, or hoping for, but her smile remained sweet and welcoming.

"Merlin's sick," he told her, and the smile yielded to concern as she glanced at the back of the door – the calendar that hung there, he remembered. He added, "Not bad enough to see Alice, I don't think, but he sounds miserable."

"Already?" she said softly, half to herself.

"Excuse me?" he said, and she gave him a troubled frown.

"October is always bad for Merlin," she said. "Allergies or something, he's always under the weather toward the end of the month. Starting early this year, though, if he's sick already."

"I'll bring him some chicken soup from the café for dinner tonight, if they have it," Arthur offered.

"Tell Gwen why you want it," Freya advised. "Then it'll be a sure thing. You left your door unlocked?"

"Not that it would matter to you," he teased lightly; she was as adept with locks as Merlin was. "But yes. I'll see you tonight."

That day, as Arthur had his computer open on the booth table, Gwen stopped to chat less often – but it seemed that his upward glances caught her smiles more frequently. It seemed they'd progressed beyond a juvenile sort of self-consciousness at the coincidence, and into a more comfortable nonverbal territory.

And then she slid into the bench opposite him with a sigh and a slurp of her covered soda through a straw, slouching down and propping her denim tennis-shoes up on the seat by his leg.

"The chicken soup is simmering. I'm on break," she announced to his questioning look. "I advise you to take one, too."

"Sounds like good advice," he agreed, closing his laptop.

"How's your project progressing?" she asked.

"I'm…" he hesitated only momentarily. "Tracking down a number of people who might have information on a topic of interest, but last known contact was years ago."

"Slim pickin's?" she drawled.

He huffed a wry affirmation. "All right, change of subject. You've heard me talking about living in DC – now I want to know, what was it like growing up here? Do the kids from Culpeper and Lone Oak mix much? Does the magic ever spill over whatever boundaries they've got set up at the school?"

"There's not a _lot_ of interaction," Gwen answered cautiously. "Those kids are pretty nervous the first couple of years – though you can't really blame them. And the unexpected magic used to happen a lot more. I get the feeling from Freya that the sort of security you're referring to – containment – has been a lot tighter since Merlin's been the officer in charge of that."

"So what was it like before?" Arthur asked, wondering if Lone Oak in Morgana's day had been a lot different than what he'd become familiar with.

Gwen tapped her lips with her fingertips, involuntarily drawing his attention there, though he believed she didn't notice. "I think our parents might have been a lot more nervous than in other places," she said finally. "I think our warnings might have been more strict than kids in other towns, about being careful of strangers and not going places alone or after dark. When I was in high school it was common to rebel by meeting with some of the magic kids who snuck away from Lone Oak; they used to start bonfires in empty fields."

"Smoke and drank and cussed?" Arthur suggested lightly.

She flopped her foot over to hit the side of his leg. "That's what you did?"

"And got tattoos," Arthur said, grinning.

She laughed to remember the Hitchcock reference. "Snow in April and fireworks shows out of their bare hands?"

"Along with the bonfires, that must have endeared them to the police chief and the fire marshal and the landowners," Arthur observed with humor.

"For Culpeper, it's always been… Lone Oak is a fact of life, so deal with it. Fire marshal and police chief don't want to provoke – I don't know, _incidents_ , so they deal all right with Dr. Gaius, who's really an easy-going and nice sort of person, he comes in here sometimes with Alice. The local paper, I think, has the same sort of understanding – maybe even the whole county."

"Does that bother you?" Arthur asked, genuinely intrigued. "The fact that stuff happens up there – that it might happen in the streets of your city – and you wouldn't know a thing about it?"

She thought. Then shook her head slowly. "I guess I think, if it affects my life, then I should know. Like if there's someone dangerous loose, I need to take precautions to protect myself, people I love, this place. If someone magically poisoned the groundwater for the area, or enchanted all the parking meters to fire coins like bullets. People should know those sorts of things for their own safety, but all the rest…" She shrugged.

"That's happened?" Arthur said, surprised.

She gave him a look. "Not here. The water thing was Arizona, I think, and the parking meters… hm, some college campus in Kansas? They were protesting an increase in parking charges, I think…"

"Geez," Arthur said, a little grumpily, "sit-ins and picket signs, anyone?"

Gwen shrugged. "In any case, if folks like Gaius and Merlin are going to cut off magical mishaps at the pass, it doesn't do either side any good for everyone to know what might've happened, does it? Then we don't trust them, and they get scared or frustrated, which results in exactly what we feared, and retaliation and… I don't know, concentration camps."

"For us or for them," Arthur asked, and she tipped him an eyebrow that acknowledged the possibility of either.

"Gotta get back to work," she said, dropping her feet and sliding out. "Can't solve all the world's problems on my break."

"Just one or two of mine," he said lightly, and she smiled in a pleased way.

Pork fried rice for dinner, and it was almost better than the Chinese Arthur sometimes had delivered from the place down the corner from the Marriott. He wondered why Elyan was going to school for business instead of cooking, and asked Gwen when she set a heavy plastic sack with the handles tied, down on the table.

"He's taking those classes, too," she answered as he zipped the case for his laptop. "It's just, not really manly to have cooking as your degree. Or something." She rolled her eyes at Arthur's gender, and he was delighted to be insulted. "Now, I've got the styrofoam container packed in towels, that'll keep the heat in. I know Merlin can warm it with magic, but it's never as good, reheated. Tell him Elyan wants him better by Halloween – he's planning to go all out here that day, costumes and decoration and food, so…"

"I'll tell him," Arthur said, sliding out of the booth to stand right next to her; she dragged her gaze up his chest like she was only just now realizing how tall he was. Not very, but she wasn't tall for a girl, either. He said, "Are you still off tomorrow? What do you do on your days off?"

She bit the side of her lip. "I don't know yet… whether I'm working or not, I mean. It's been nice having Tuesday off…" The door opened on a post-dinner-coffee-and-dessert couple, and she moved away. "Good night, Arthur."

He'd brought a flashlight this time, and was glad for the radiant heat of the soup, walking back up to Lone Oak. He wondered what the temperatures might be like here in the winter, whether the oak forests insulated better than the Chesapeake Bay and Potomac River. What the wind and snow was like. Or maybe he should just drive his Chrysler from now on.

Arthur opened the unlocked door of room 205 to the sound of Merlin sawing uneven logs in the other room. The lamp on the desk under the window was lit; he crossed to set the plastic-wrapped chicken soup on top of a red file folder and was surprised to see Freya through the open bedroom door.

She was seated somehow on the narrow windowsill in the bedroom, one knee up and the other leg left swinging, and her eyes caught the light as she turned from gazing out toward the darkness. Briefly he wondered what she saw – in the dark, as cats are said to? Glancing over, presumably at Merlin's bed, she hopped lightly and silently down to the carpet, padding to meet Arthur with still-bare feet.

"I called Alice this afternoon," Freya told Arthur. "She gave him some stuff that knocked him out – if he wakes he'll be pretty foggy, but hopefully he'll feel better tomorrow."

"All right," Arthur said. "Thanks, Freya."

She gave him a tired smile, and slipped out the door, and he thought, _She truly loves that silly old beanpole._ And also thought, with a sharper pang of longing, _Wish I had someone who loved me enough to hang out with me while I snore with congestion_.

He untied the plastic and pushed the towel back from the container of soup to make sure it hadn't leaked around the lid.

And mentally added, _And someone who'd bring me soup that smells this good when I feel like crap._

In the other room, Merlin snorted – whuffled – groaned his way out of bed. He appeared in the doorway with a terrible case of bedhead; his eyes matched his hair and his skin matched the white t-shirt he wore with his pajama pants. He ran his shoulder into the doorframe and it looked accidental, but he sagged there a moment, letting it hold him up.

"Morning, afternoon, and evening," Arthur said. "How do you feel?"

"Like hell." Merlin pushed the heel of his hand into one eye socket. "But I smelled heaven."

"She just left," Arthur teased him.

Merlin only looked at him blankly. Made as if to come out of the bedroom, and swayed like a drunk.

"Whoa," Arthur said, alarmed. "You have a fever?"

"Not anymore, I think." Merlin made it to his desk without falling, and inspected the chicken soup container with one finger. "Heaven. I was right. You are a prince among friends, Arthur." Almost simultaneously, he felt of his t-shirt with the other hand, and added immediately, "Gosh, I'm soaked with sweat. Nasty."

Leaving his dinner on his desk, he stumbled back into the bedroom, slapping at the wall for the light switch.

Arthur felt compelled to follow him, to make sure his roommate didn't get dizzy and lurch headfirst into the wooden wardrobe. He watched Merlin retrieve a clean folded t-shirt from his wardrobe – hesitate on seeing Arthur in the doorway – then slink past Arthur toward the bathroom, and lock himself in. A shower, Arthur assumed.

He looked at the rumpled mess of Merlin's bed and thought of changing sheets – Merlin had done it for him once, after all – but didn't know if his roommate had a second set, or wanted the sort of time spent on them the basement washer-dryer would take. And probably Merlin could clean and freshen them with a look and a wave, anyway. If he had the energy, Arthur reminded himself. Maybe it would be worthwhile to order a second set of sheets for either of them to use if need be.

But Merlin emerged without having run the shower, to toss his damp t-shirt at his laundry by the foot of his bed, before collapsing in his desk chair. So he was just too shy or private, Arthur decided, to change with someone in the room with the lights on.

"By the way," he remarked, "Gwen said to tell you, Elyan expects your help for a Halloween thing he wants to do at the café."

Merlin groaned, then whimpered, dropping the hand his spoon was in to the desktop to rest his forehead on the edge. "No no no," he lamented. "Why me? No…"

Arthur grinned in sympathy. "It's still more than a week. Plenty of time for you to feel better and get your strength back."

"Curse you," Merlin moaned. "You and your cheer and your optimism."

"Good night," Arthur said in a teasing sing-song.

…..*….. …..*….. …..*….. …..*….. …..*…..

That week, Mordred and Kara tried for their revenge.

The Government class had reached the section on civil rights – which included specific historical strictures on various minorities. Including intermarriage.

"So what's your opinion, Mr. Arthur?" Kara challenged from a third-row seat. "You've been awful careful not to weigh in personally on our debates, you argue one side, then the other."

"That's a teacher's job," Arthur pointed out. "So you can consider a question from every angle, without the influence of my opinions."

"Would you marry someone with magic?" she demanded.

Arthur looked at several faces and realized that any answer but honesty would be heard as a resounding _no_ , with reasons of prejudice assumed.

"I think," he said carefully, "that marriage works best between two people who come from similar backgrounds, who can understand and appreciate the influences of upbringing. That includes things like race and socio-economic status, sometimes even national region. And, magic."

"So you would marry - someone of the same class and color - only?" Mordred spoke clearly, and speaking aloud was unusual for him at any time; Arthur was sure this was the first time, in class.

"That's not what I said," he began to clarify.

"Gwen Smythe is no good for wife, but only for –" Mordred said a word that had Arthur's fists clenching at his sides.

Controlling his own, he said, firstly, "Language, Mordred. The lady in question is a lady, and deserves your respect. And, when you grow up –" he let his tone grow condescending, though with humor rather than spite – "you'll realize, life is about more than sex. A man and a woman can enjoy a platonic relationship –"

"Friends with benefits?" Kara suggested slyly.

Arthur rolled his eyes. "Maybe we should have this discussion when your opinions are not governed by hormones… Would you marry someone ordinary?"

The class at large scoffed; Mordred and Kara smirked at each other, and Arthur answered the question for them.

"No, and why not? Because you've already found the person you want to love for the rest of your life. But what happens when you hang on to prejudices of any sort? Then cheerleaders never date language students." That hit home, he saw; each of them sobered, though the rest of the class was unaware of his references' specificity. "And big-city rich boys don't get to know country girls at all, and why should ordinary and magic try to understand each other the way peace and acceptance and welcome needs?"

"I think you should marry Gwen," someone else piped up, a girl with a long name Arthur still stumbled over, reading aloud for role call. "She's nice. She works too hard."

The boy in front of her turned around to remark tangentially, "Did you hear they're doing a Halloween thing there this year? That's brave."

A murmur of agreement swept the class, and for curiosity's sake, Arthur allowed the rabbit trail.

"Why is that brave, exactly?" he said.

"Halloween," Kara said, like, _duh_. "All Hallows' Eve? Samhain, according to Aglain."

"What does he have to say about it?" Arthur asked, interested.

"The veil between the - worlds of the living, and the dead, is thin, that night," Mordred spoke up, and the rest of the class hummed supportively. "Spirits walk, and are seen. Magic can see them, sometimes. They come here."

"Spooky shit happens," Kara finished.

"Hm," Arthur said, feeling a bit skeptical, because he didn't put it beyond his students to pull his leg if they could.

"Civil War soldiers," said the girl whose name was as long and tangled as her honey-brown hair. "From the battlefields, because, like, Virginia is basically one big battlefield. There's a cemetery not a mile away from here. They've been _seen_."

"By whom?" Arthur said.

Mumble. Shuffle. Glances exchanged and shoulders shrugged and he mentally decided, urban legend.

And the bell rang. He raised his voice above the _we're-free_ scramble of noise among the class of students. "Read the first section of chapter 3 by tomorrow and be prepared to discuss question seven especially from page sixty-four."

Packing up his own papers and folder from his desk into the case he carried his laptop in, he ducked into the shoulder strap and left his classroom.

Free period before the end of the day. He could sit in on another of Freya's classes; he hadn't gotten around to asking any of the others. But that would mean pushing off tomorrow's grading – and then next week's planning. But he'd run out of ideas and options for the last roommate. Bad luck, maybe, though he was sure average people were just, that hard to track online. Details falling through cracks after ten years, and maybe magic-users by and large avoided social media too – or else had an entirely separate site of their own they kept hidden and protected. Now _there_ was an idea, he thought sarcastically.

It gave him a different perspective, though. He'd considered that Morgana as a senior would have been past new-magic jitters – but looming graduation would bring real-life questions of where to go and how to make a living. Morgana wouldn't have wanted to use their father's money, he was sure, just as he figured Uther had probably attempted to throw more of the same at the question of what was to become of his daughter. A continued allowance if she kept out of DC's spotlight.

Maybe the uncertainty, or the fear of facing ordinary communities after being in the nest of Lone Oak so long, had been enough to overtake her at a low moment.

He resolved to try Alice one more time – and nearly ran into Merlin on the stair.

"Hey!" Arthur said, their habitual greeting. And reached to steady his roommate, so he wouldn't pitch backwards down the staircase. "Are you feeling okay?"

Merlin gave him a puzzled look, like he had no idea what Arthur was referring to. "I'm fine."

"Sure you are," Arthur scoffed. "White as a ghost…" Which reminded him. "When are you going to do Elyan's decorations for Halloween at the Salt and CulPepper? I'll drive you down if you like, you won't have to walk all the way in this cold."

Merlin blinked. And said, "Freya felt like cooking tonight, so I won't see you in the cafeteria for dinner. I said you could come eat with us, but she didn't want to ask you, in case what she's trying is a total flop, she'd be more embarrassed in front of you."

"All right," Arthur said only, and rolled his eyes to himself after Merlin was past him, going up the stairs. He was glad Freya had taken his advice, but as far as he could tell, Merlin remained oblivious of her affections. Inviting Arthur to join them when she was going to cook dinner. Geez.

Jogging down the last steps, he passed the ancient vending machines, and pushed open the door of Alice's office, where she sat behind her paper-strewn desk, attention focused on a computer screen to one side.

"With you in a –" she glanced at him, then stopped. " _Don't_ tell me you've caught it, too? He's always managed to keep from passing it to a roommate, but Freya said she's been feeling a bit slow this week, though there isn't any real reason he should've passed it to her, more's the pity –"

Arthur stopped her with an amused, "I'm not here because I'm sick, Alice."

"Oh." She sat back in her chair, tugging at the end of the long braid hung over the shoulder of her mauve-gray wool-plaid sweater.

"I'm worried about Merlin," he added, for explanation.

And she knew exactly what he was talking about, in an instant. Though again, she said only the one word, on a pleasant tone of query. "Oh?"

"A bad head cold, I thought. Freya said it happens every year at this time, it might be allergies, but." Arthur conveyed his skepticism with a lift of one brow. "Now my students tell me that stuff happens around Halloween – and Merlin totally refused to discuss the party at the café in town he's been asked to help with. Which isn't like him."

Alice took a deep breath, sitting up straighter in her chair and clasping her hands in front of her. "Do you have any idea, Mr. Pendragon, how uniquely powerful Merlin Emrys is?"

"Freya and Gaius both said," he nodded.

"There is much of magic that is beyond the five ordinary senses we share," she said, as if that was an explanation. "And Merlin is sometimes too sensitive for his own good."

"You mean he's…" Arthur hesitated to say, it sounded so ridiculous, "being _haunted_?"

"That is not an inaccurate description," Alice conceded, her eyes gazing softly through the blank wall past Arthur's left shoulder. "Though not as you would expect, not necessarily seeing dead people, as Hollywood would have you envision. It's more… an oppression of emotion. Like… grief for those lost, tragically and violently, settles on him. It'll be better into November. Thanksgiving is good, and usually by Christmas we have him quite merry again."

"So it's nothing for me to worry about," Arthur questioned.

"Worry if you like, dear," she said with a kind smile. "And show him, if you're man enough for it. That'll help, I daresay."

Arthur grunted, which made her smile. Then he said, "What about any of the students? Do they feel the same oppression, this time of year?"

"A few of them do," she allowed. For a moment he wondered how to broach the topic of sleeping pills again, without making her suspicious, or whether it was time to _tell_ her, before she continued. "But you may rest assured, I always know who they are, and we keep a very close eye on them."

"And they've never… I don't know… slipped under your radar?" Arthur pressed.

Her eyes sharpened. "Do you have someone in mind?"

"No, I just…" _Morgana_ , he thought, and couldn't say. "Some of them were talking about the legends of Civil War soldiers' ghosts seen around here."

She inhaled. "I know what you're referring to. Those stories, they grow with each telling, you know. And the truth is probably more obscure than a stranger could understand."

"You're not going to explain because I'm ordinary," he teased.

She took no offense, but corrected placidly, "I'm not going to _gossip_."

"Well, I guess I've got to respect that," he said. "Good afternoon, then – and let me know if there's anything I could or should do for Merlin… apart from profess my undying friendship. Which is not going to happen."

"The profession?" she said with an innocent twinkle as he reached for the doorknob, "or the friendship?"

…..*….. …..*… …..*….. …..*….. …..*…..

That weekend, five days til Halloween, Arthur drove the Chrysler two minutes down into town, Merlin and an excited Freya as his passengers.

"Gwen said Elyan said it was a marketing thing he learned in one of his classes," she said from the middle of the backseat, leaning forward over her knees as Arthur coasted the car down Lone Oak's single lane. "Special events. Like holidays. More people come. Gwen said she might have to hire extra staff. Or make a lot of cold food and limit the menu, more like a private party. And charge a flat fee at the door, rather than having everyone order separately."

Merlin was uncharacteristically silent, staring out the window with his elbow propped on the door, pinching his lip in troubled thought.

Arthur tried to lighten the mood. "Did Elyan say he wanted to do costumes? You two should go as Catwoman and Batman, maybe."

Freya huffed and slapped his shoulder lightly, but a glance in the rearview told him she was grinning. Merlin looked at him with the same lack of expression he wore when avoiding the topic of Halloween.

"I'm not _going_ ," he said blankly.

If Freya noticed he was _off_ , she took it in stride. "Oh, come on," she said persuasively, "it would be fun…" And the last minute of the ride was spent with her good-humored teasing and Merlin's distracted monosyllables.

When Gwen said the same thing, later in the café - watching Elyan describe to Merlin, and Freya glow with enthusiasm, and Merlin contain all emotion with his arms crossed over his chest – Arthur was shocked.

"What do you mean, you won't be here for Halloween?" he said.

Gwen shrugged. She was wearing skinny jeans and flat boots, with a snug white short-sleeve sweatshirt. Her hair in a long fuzzy braid down her back, and a green ball cap with a fishhook on the brim pulled low over her eyes. She watched Elyan and Freya pull Merlin into the smaller third of the dining room, gesturing and explaining.

"I'm off that night," she said. "Just, going to stay in."

"With the lights off so the trick-or-treaters don't come?" he teased, still puzzled. "What are you, a Halloween Scrooge?"

"I suppose." She didn't meet his eyes; she wasn't amused. But, she didn't walk away, letting both other women manage the order counter.

"You could make orange soup, couldn't you?" he tried, attempting to catch her eye with a persuasive grin.

Her lip curled like she was trying not to smile. "Acorn-squash soup. But that's served cold."

"I'd eat it," Arthur declared. "I bet it would be great."

Gwen scoffed. "That's a load of bull. No self-respecting man ever ate cold, fancy-fussy soup because he thought he would like it."

"I think I'd like anything you make," Arthur said honestly. She peered up at him, expression hidden by the brim of her ballcap, and he lightened the moment by begging facetiously, "C'mon, gimme a chance."

She didn't say anything, and Arthur suddenly had the idea that she was considering a lot more than just acorn-squash soup. It was a bit disconcerting; he didn't know what to do or say, but he couldn't look away from her eyes.

He'd never known anyone like her. Never known any place like this, small and intimate and quirky-funny and homey-comfortable. The town, the school, not graceless and backward at all, but possibly more socially progressive in a practical way than DC itself. And Gwen even more involved in the lives and interests and comforts of her customers than Arthur was or even could be, at the Marriott.

"What are you thinking?" she said in a soft-husky voice.

He couldn't put it into words.

Instead he reached to hook her braid with his forefinger and draw it over her shoulder; she allowed it without so much as flinching. He said, "I didn't know your hair was this long. You should wear it down more often, I bet it's beautiful."

She scoffed again, rejecting a compliment that was completely unplanned on his part. "Food service, remember? I woke up late and didn't have time to wash it. And so, the braid," she said, turning away from him to observe her brother describe some plan for the between-counters serving area, almost angry-impatient now, and he didn't understand her mood. Didn't like it, and wanted to coax her out of it, for her own sake.

But he still didn't know what to say. Thought a quip about cleaning bathrooms for her would be out of place. So he simply stood at her side, hands in his pockets.

She gave him a sideways glance – his body rather than his face, so that he didn't see hers. "You didn't bring your laptop. Did you finish your project, then?"

He sighed. "Yeah. Dead ends, all around."

"That means you won't be coming here for wifi anymore." Oddly said, as a statement rather than a question. Almost an accusation.

 _I never came here for the wifi_. He said, "I was thinking of not coming here anymore, anyway."

That brought her eyes back up to his, in an open-mouthed expression of surprise, and he stumbled over words that he hadn't consciously intended to say, but now they were just spilling out of his mouth.

"Since you don't go out with customers, I mean. So that you _could_ , with me. Do you want to go out with me, Halloween? Not here–" so she didn't have to work, or even to feel like she should be working – "somewhere else? Nobody should be alone on Halloween…" Trying once again to make the offer casual and light. Because if she wasn't interested in him, it might make things awkward – why had he ever said anything? – now he understood and sympathized with Merlin and Freya, a bit better.

"If you meet me here," Gwen said, quickly as if she wasn't going to allow herself a second thought, "at seven, on Halloween, I'll make you acorn-squash soup at my place, and we'll stay in together with the lights off."

He couldn't help it. He snickered.

And she realized what she'd said. Groaning, she gripped the sides of her cap-covered head, her elbow winging out to give him a shove. "Not like _that_."

"You're cute when you're embarrassed," he said, grinning with satisfaction at cheering her up.

"Gosh. Now I have to go cool my face off in the walk-in." She spun on the toe of her untied boot, ducking past Elyan-Merlin-Freya to disappear through the door to the kitchen.

"Did you catch any of that?" Freya said to Arthur, her dark eyes lit with excitement. "This place is going to be amazing on Halloween!"

Elyan looked like he was holding enthusiasm in reserve. Merlin was miles away, maybe lost in plans of his own for how best to implement his friend's ideas.

"I think you're right," Arthur said to them. "This Halloween is definitely going to be memorable."


	10. All Hallows' Eve

**Chapter 10: All Hallows' Eve**

 _(ten years ago)_

 _The night was considerably cooler than the day, this late in autumn, but Lancelot's sleeping bag was thermal-lined neoprene. Noisy, but he could manage to lie still and stargaze contented. Warm on his right leg which was nearest the campfire; he'd turn in a minute, alternating sides like the hot dogs and marshmallows they'd roasted earlier._

 _"Not sleeping?" The soft voice that interrupted his thoughts held the deep tones of his fellow counselor, and he shifted to smile at the older man, father of the set of twins they had in their troop._

 _"I'm enjoying the quiet," Lancelot responded, just above a whisper._

 _The other man snorted in amused agreement; quiet was in short supply in the daytime hours with this group of youngsters. Just as Lancelot did, he loved his involvement with the scout troop. The funny and varied personalities of the boys, the way they thought about life and the things that worried them. He loved being someone they could look up to for unconditional acceptance and support, he loved teaching them things that might seem small or superfluous in this day and age, but seemed to carry with them a sense of masculine confidence that was so good for an adolescent. Fire-starting and navigation, recognition of poisonous plants and edible ones. First aid._

 _This would be their last outing of the year, before the weather prevented activities like camping. This their last night – back to town tomorrow. But it was worth missing the trick-or-treating._

 _"Thinking of anyone in particular?" the other counselor continued._

 _Lancelot smiled at the constellations, broken and obscured by the branches of the trees that ringed their campsite. Three months into his junior year of community college, he didn't mind the mentoring overtures of the fatherly troop leader._

 _"Gwen," he said her name aloud, spoke it to the stars above them, above everyone. That was no secret; they'd been dating for nearly two years already. If anyone in Culpeper didn't know about them, they weren't paying attention._

 _"You're serious about her. One-hundred-percent, all the way, death do us part, serious?"_

 _The thought wasn't new, but it gave him a funny feeling at the top of his stomach. Warm and deep and… scary. "One day, maybe," he said. "I'd like to."_

 _"I'm happy for you. Gwen's a nice girl."_

 _Lancelot hummed, happy and content. She had less than a year of high school left; waitressing in her father's cafe, she had no bigger plans than to get a two-year degree and slowly take over the family business._

 _In the near distance, a branch cracked with a sound like a gunshot through the thin cold night air. Followed immediately by the sound of an animal Lancelot could not identify, fox or wildcat or… Something like a cackling howl._

 _Lancelot sat up in his sleeping bag. The older counselor was on his stockinged feet, clad in baggy sweats for the night, gazing into the darkness._

 _It repeated, closer, and a few of the boys struggled upright, disoriented and fearful. "What was that?"_

 _Lancelot crawled out of his sleeping bag, reaching for the duffel where he'd secured his jeans and flannel, next to his boots._

 _"I'm not sure, boys," the older counselor said. "We'll wait to hear it again – if we keep quiet, we won't scare it away, and maybe we can catch a glimpse –"_

 _But then the smallest boy_ screamed _._

 _A high-pitched sound of sustained terror that spiked Lancelot's pulse and didn't stop. He spun to look in the direction indicated by the small forefinger, white in the firelight. Movement in the dim near shadows, swaying and growing as if the firelight moved – then all the boys were screaming, and Lancelot found himself on his feet in his long underwear._

 _Men._

 _Human shapes, at least, several – he glanced around – surrounding them, and closing in with a fixed air of menace. He thought of terrorists and ransoms and of keeping the boys calm during whatever ordeal was –_

 _A horrible choking noise interrupted one of the boys' cries. And the other counselor was yelling in absolute panic._

 _Lancelot turned, bewildered – astonished - incensed. Terrified._

 _Skeletons. Or at least wearing some outlandish disguise that looked like –_

 _One of the invaders withdrew a handful of knives from the smallest boy's chest, which blossomed red, and the boy crumpled like a discarded rag doll as the skull facemask grinned around at the rest._

 _Two more stalked the boys, who scrambled toward each other – toward Lancelot – toward the troop leader, who had a length of tree branch in his hands that had been meant for the fire later. He swung at the nearest skeletal terrorist, who ducked and batted at the coarse weapon._

 _Lancelot thrust two boys behind him for protection, reaching for a third – just as another attacker stabbed the child through from behind, jerking the small body to a stop. Terror drained from the boy's eyes and face as blood ran red down basketball-themed pajamas._

 _He felt tears on his face, hot and cold, furious and frightened and sick. He ignored the prickle and sting of bare feet on the forest floor and flung himself on the man, putting all his strength into a face punch he hoped would drop him so Lancelot could fight on to the next – defend the boys – defeat the enemy – survive._

 _His knuckles split wide open. It was as if he'd punched a tree. And the murderer wasn't even fazed._

 _Damn, that mask was realistic. The eyes weren't even visible, it had to be transparent cloth or –_

 _The boy's body was flung aside and the terrorist punched Lancelot – high in the stomach where butterflies fanned contentedly hopeful wings when he thought of Gwen – but something was wrong._

 _He stumbled to a stop in his tracks, looking down to see a garishly wet red stain spread over the cream of his thermal undershirt._

 _Bones. Something wrong with his eyes, or brain, because – bones. Fingers and hand bare of flesh, thrust right into him like so many pointed sticks. He could feel them wriggling inside him like the terrorist was trying to tickle his liver, shredding him. It_ hurt _._

 _It didn't hurt, it was just cold…_

 _He clutched at the other's body involuntarily for balance – the whole world was screaming and tipping but they two were holding their breath – it wasn't a body really just a framework of bony rods –_

 _What._

 _The man withdrew the bare-phalanges weapon from Lancelot's body like he was pulling the liver out._

 _And for one moment more he felt hope instead of pain. It wasn't so bad, he could still – he could still –_

 _Slam. All five again, slightly up and to the left. Lancelot felt his body jerk, felt the warmth of blood slide away down his skin to the waistband of long underwear. He shuddered and couldn't stop shuddering and couldn't breathe and couldn't keep himself on his feet. Slam. Slam. Slam-slam-slam-_

 _He was on his back and all he could see were stars, disjointed by dark unseen branches and he was drowning in blood that tasted copper-warm._

 _One boy still screaming._

 _Then nothing._

 _Lancelot struggled to drag in another breath, opened his eyes wide against the last darkness that terrified him – Gwen! –_

 _A woman said, "Well done. A successful first test. Next time we'll have to –"_

 _The darkness was nothing to fear. It enveloped him in a warm embrace, and carried him away, unresisting._

…..*….. …..*….. …..*….. …..*….. …..*…..

The last week of October was a confusion of emotional extremes. Most of the freshmen hadn't yet experienced the holiday as a newly-awakened magic-user; the others had, and variously anticipated or dreaded.

For Arthur, it was looking forward to his date with Gwen – did he call it a date, or wait til she used the term? did he want to be more than friends with her? – and concern for his roommate.

For Merlin, the congested snoring and fits of coughing gave way to nightmares. Night- _terrors_ , maybe, Arthur had heard the term but never thought much of it. Though he himself had woken a handful of times in his life, heart pounding and sticky with cold sweat, he didn't believe he'd ever experienced anything this bad.

Merlin _sobbed_. _Begged_ , sometimes, though Arthur wasn't clear on, with whom or for what.

It was heart-wrenching. Gut-wrenching, sometimes. And Arthur had to suffer it in silence, also; twice he'd gotten up to turn on the light and check that his roommate wasn't – dying, or something. Both times Merlin nearly choked himself with his pillow, trying to stuff all the emotion inside, apologizing for disturbing Arthur – though at least he didn't try to deny the occurrence, as he did with daytime symptoms of illness.

He did the same the third time Arthur had only called across the dark space between their beds, to wake and interrupt and end whatever Merlin endured helpless in his sleep. Cried out, gasped – _"I'm sorry!"_ – and promised in something of a babble, to use his magic to keep Arthur's sleep undisturbed.

Which made Arthur feel like a world-class jerk. Because Merlin was spread thin again – Arthur had hinted several times to Gaius that the school security officer needed someone for backup – and he was offering to muffle his own ordeal for Arthur's comfort.

And because, if Merlin hadn't outright forgotten that promise of magic used to soothe sleep, whatever he'd done hadn't worked.

Arthur mentioned Alice's diagnosis, and Merlin hadn't denied it. Neither had he explained further. Daylight brought a cheerful grin and an automatic _I'm fine_. But Arthur figured Merlin hadn't had a roommate, a witness to this odd powerful-magic-users-only malady, since his own days as a student. Arthur wondered if it would be a good idea to try to find Merlin's ex-roommates from those days, to get some perspective on what was normal for the young man, or whether Merlin would finally consider himself offended by that.

Halloween was a Friday. Merlin gone from the room when Arthur woke – nothing unusual in that. But, still.

The classes for that day, Arthur didn't try to teach. Review games completed and order kept, and that was good enough. The students clamored to know what he would dress up as, and he smiled and refused to tell them his plans. He gathered that it was a night when the school and the town mingled, and if the tricks played around Culpeper were magical in nature, no one minded if they were harmless.

Arthur had the niggling suspicion that it was part of Merlin's job to make sure the tricks were harmless.

Like the animated scarecrow jerking up and down the aisles between the café tables, carrying a tray of paper-covered straws and extra napkins. Arthur stood on the sidewalk and watched through the window as Mordred – dressed as Dracula – bumped the tray deliberately. Jostled napkins and straws floated back to their places like magnetized leaves, and the tray remained level. Kara – her neck and provocatively-tattered white dress smeared with homemade blood, sneered as she turned with him to the side door and the patio loud with patrons, even with the chill in the air.

Merlin, seated in the far booth of the more private third of the dining room, facing away from Arthur toward the kitchen, didn't seem to notice Mordred's treatment of his magical puppet. Freya, a very brave Dorothy Gale – considering her history - sat the bench seat beside him, turned sideways to view the party, knees drawn up under the blue-and-white-checkered skirt to lean against Merlin. She fingered the ribbon in one of her grown-girl pigtails absently – and waved when she caught sight of Arthur through the window.

But not like, _come on in here and join us_. She knew why Arthur was waiting on the sidewalk.

"They've got rum in the spiced cider," a voice said behind him.

He turned to see Gwen in her carpenter jeans and a blue-green v-neck sweatshirt, her hands stuffed in a pouch pocket at the front against the chill in the air. And moccasin-style slippers on her feet – which didn't scream, _first date_. And she wasn't smiling.

"Just a bit for flavor," she added, "but it's there. You don't have to have cold soup alone in my apartment."

Arthur left that word, _alone_. He said instead, "Are you disinviting me?"

"No," she said, almost belligerently. She stared at him a moment longer, then shrugged and spun on the toe of her slipper to stalk down the alley on the side of the cafe that was opposite the outdoor patio, where more of the paying party spilled.

Arthur followed her to a narrow steel staircase that led to a nondescript white door in a second level at the back of the building. Maybe over the kitchen, maybe behind it, he wasn't sure. Just as he wasn't sure about the cause of the mood Gwen was in. Maybe she regretted. Maybe she feared. Maybe she tested. He thought he knew enough of her, personally and from Merlin and Freya, to just be patient, til he understood.

"So this is my place," Gwen said, still blocking his view of it except for a colorful rag rug.

"Oh," he said, surprised – and then not.

"Take off your shoes. Mine and Elyan's, of course, it's a two-bedroom." She let him close the door behind him, heading away to his right.

It was small, but open. Couch and tv to his left, corner kitchen with bar stools at an eating island to his left. Short hall which probably led to bathroom and bedrooms beyond. And a small desk on the wall between the door and kitchen, for keys and books – he glanced down at one that showed a lines-and-rows organization of black-and-white portraits, but his attention was on the girl in the kitchen.

Bending over to retrieve a small soup tureen from the refrigerator, and he could not help looking. Admiring the unintentionally provocative pose. He was _male_ , after all. His words to his class about platonic friendship were diminishing in importance, and he felt… just fine with that. Maybe not eager for changes, but… _interested_. Was a good word.

Gwen had two bowls waiting on the island. She didn't speak and she didn't meet his eyes as she ladled, and he joined her. Tossed green salad in a larger bowl, glistening already with dressing, wooden tongs protruding artistically.

He reached for the napkins and silverware to divide them into two place-settings. "The Lone Ranger."

She looked at him blankly – then hastily returned dripping ladle to tureen, setting it behind her on the shelf to be out of their way. "What?"

He hitched his butt over one of the bar stools, nudging the other out for her. "My very first Halloween. My nanny took me with her family – I was four, I think. I went as the Lone Ranger."

And there was the wide, relaxed smile he'd missed seeing on her face, almost as long as he'd missed seeing one on Merlin's.

"Why am I not surprised?" she quipped. "Your love of the classics started early."

"What about you?" he coaxed. "When you were little, and before you hated Halloween?"

She made a face, acknowledging his recognition of her aversion, but relenting at the same time. "Raggedy Ann. My mom put red wool in my pigtails." She made fists on either side of her head; Arthur envisioned fuzzy balls of curls, and grinned. "She tried to dress Elyan to match, but he was truly _raggedy_ Andy before we even left the house."

"Cute," Arthur commented, spooning himself a generous mouthful. Cold soup was strange, but it was flavorful. "Mm. This _is_ good."

"You're just saying that," she told him, but relented enough to serve them both the salad. Spinach and strawberries, he thought, and there were poppy seeds in the invisible-shiny dressing.

"I'm not. Take the compliment."

She snorted, but began eating, herself. And they made their way leisurely through the meal with occasional, casual conversation. He got her to tell him how she'd made the soup, and why soup. She explained about dorm-cafeteria food, and he understood the incentive for alternative. Ingredients for soup were inexpensive and it lasted a long time and could be easily reheated. She'd treasured a cookbook she'd picked up in a used bookstore, but it was lost when she moved home, and her experimentation had come out of trying to recreate her favorite recipes.

Then she fell silent, watching him as he chased the last of the tangy-sweet dressing around his empty salad bowl with a sliced strawberry on his fork.

"What?" he said, ready to defend his action against whatever point of etiquette she thought he offended.

"I can't quite figure you out, Arthur Pendragon," she said quietly.

He set his dishes away from him – then immediately wished to have them back, to give his hands something to do. Her eyes were deep and luminous and while he was pleased to have dinner cooked – or not, as the case may be – for him at her place, he wasn't yet ready to examine or discuss The Future.

"Merlin said you were a good guy…" she trailed off, biting her lip and narrowing her eyes. "Leaving your big city business to come out here and _teach_. I mean, don't get me wrong, I believed him, he's usually a good judge of character. But after I saw you, I thought, there has to be a flaw. To look like you do, and bankroll a hotel, and still be _single_? I thought, there has to be something that maybe Merlin as another man, doesn't see."

Arthur snorted. "You want me to list my faults? We don't have that kind of time."

She caught the smile, and subdued it firmly. "I want you to tell me honestly, how is it that you've escaped matrimony so far."

He couldn't help smiling, because the same thought had crossed his mind in regard to her. "The truth is, I've never been tempted before. Not to marriage. Because the girls who want me are selfish and superficial, and the good ones all think I must be selfish and superficial. Damn money."

Gwen laughed out loud, throwing her head back and leaning away from the counter. "Spoken like a true rich boy! Oh, Arthur. Nobody says _damn money_ except those who've got too much of it."

"You can have it," he said grumpily. "I'll invest in the café."

She shook her head decisively. "I don't want to go into business with you. I imagine it ruins friendships." He smiled, content to have her name it so, what they had after this short, but full time. "Speaking of business," she added, "now that your mysterious project is over, can you elaborate? I nearly went crazy with curiosity, wondering what had you so absorbed, and trying to be too polite to look over your shoulder."

Arthur sighed, leaning on his elbows and rubbing his forehead. "I told you about my sister? That she had magic, but she died, and I came here to understand her better? Well, she died _here_ – she was a student at Lone Oak."

Gwen's dark eyes were huge, her fingers partially obscuring her open mouth. "Omigosh, I didn't realize… What happened?"

"They say she killed herself. Sleeping pills, maybe on accident, maybe on purpose. But that didn't match what I knew of her, so I've been trying to find people who knew her while she was here."

Gwen nodded, wordlessly encouraging him to continue.

"But now that I've been here a couple of months, I can understand how the younger kids might feel lost and confused and hopeless. I understand how the older ones might feel scared to leave the security of Lone Oak to make their own way in an unfriendly world. And recently I have this theory that this time of year might prove extra-depressing to certain magic-users." Gwen's expression turned thoughtful, and he added, "I suppose I can believe she'd seek medicinal help in sleeping, and misjudge dosage, if she wasn't intentionally trying to…"

It was hard to say. And voicing his thoughts aloud served to firm the belief that had sprung up, nameless, that it hurt no one for him to think Morgana's overdose unintentional. Self-administered by someone desperate and depressed – extras taken before the initial amount had time to work, effects suppressing frank self-examination.

"What was her name?" Gwen asked gently. "Your sister."

"Morgana. Dubois, my mother's maiden name." He didn't begin to try to explain his father's reasons for that, or his thoughts on his sister's acceptance of the decision; Gwen straightened, her sympathy changed to surprise.

"I knew her. Not personally, just – I saw her around town, in the café. She was so beautiful and – assertive, I wished I could be more like her. We were the same year in school."

"Oh," Arthur said, but she wasn't finished.

"You're right, though, it doesn't seem like she would do something like that. She seemed so sure of herself, always. Had a lot of friends – maybe like me, they admired her for that, and wished they had it, too…"

"Good friends?" Arthur said. Maybe she could remember more – and though he'd reached a conclusion he could live with for the rest of his life, he wouldn't turn down a lead to make sure.

"Um. Maybe not the sort you mean." Gwen gave him a look like she was worried she'd offend him. "I don't mean to speak ill, but… it wasn't like she had equals, only followers. No one she was close to, not like… Well, there was that one teacher. You don't often see teachers and students, hanging out."

"Teacher," Arthur said. Now that was an idea he hadn't pursued beyond dull George Valiant. "Do you remember a name?"

"I'm sorry I… don't." Gwen pulled back slightly, her eyes dropping. "There's reasons that I…" Without finishing, she left her bar stool and moved to stack the dishes they'd used off the table-island.

"Reasons that you what?" Arthur said.

"Never mind." She didn't meet his eyes, biting the side of her lip and focusing on her hands, turning away to the sink.

 _Something happened in my senior year – in the community, in my life_ … Gwen's senior year had been Morgana's senior year, and it made Arthur wonder. Gwen disliked Halloween, and Morgana had died a week after the holiday, ten years ago. Even if there was no connection, he didn't like Gwen shutting him out, putting barriers between them for any reason, when there didn't have to be.

He slipped away from his own stool and rounded the island, intending to halt her needless busy-work and assure her of his trustworthy sympathy. But she turned at the same time, unaware of his proximity, and evidently intending to move further because they collided.

Instantly, unexpectedly. Full body, though not completely front-to-front – more like, her two o'clock and his ten o'clock.

And for that moment, time stopped. And eternity promised.

She was warm, and she was soft – dark eyes just beginning to show startled and full lips parted, and he _wanted_.

To take her in his arms and hold her tight against him for a long time, it felt so nice. To make her smile, and feel her laugh, and then do it again. To have her arms tighten around him, needing him and wanting to feel him, too.

And her mouth. Hot damn, he wanted that too. A lazy, leisurely exploration, a tango of tongues that melted every nerve ending til there was no more air between them, just liquid brilliance and desire that might build and build – or else be delayed til another time, sweetening because it would surely come, when they both wanted the same thing.

Which was what.

 _Ask her to move to the middle of the big city if there's going to be any future for the relationship?_ When he'd declared to Merlin that he _wasn't looking for just-for-fun, anymore._

But… but… she was special. She was unique. She understood certain parts of him that no one ever really had before, because she felt the same way, she pursued similar things in her own life and – wouldn't he be a fool to step back now and say, _it wouldn't work._

Because what if it did.

And if he didn't at least try to find out, he would regret it. As different as they were, as far apart as their lives were, she was like none of the girls he'd ever gotten to know before, and –

 _What if?_ Eternity beckoned – teased – then slipped away, leaving him momentarily stunned.

And Gwen was backing away to the corner of the kitchen, murmuring breathless apologies. "Sorry. Sorry. S'cuse me."

"Gwen," he said, only slightly reproachful.

Her eyes were shy of his for a moment, til his gaze caught hers, and he told her his thought silently – _what if? find out?_ – stepping to follow her retreat.

Slowly, so she could telegraph, _Back the hell out of my personal space_ , if she did not care for his thought.

But she didn't. There was surprise, still – as if she hadn't considered that he might consider this with her, much less decide he wanted to act on the possibility. Uncertainty – but no outright rejection.

He paused right next to her, not crowding but not too subtle, either, and lifted his hand to cup her round brown cheek, sliding fingers into her hair behind and below her ear. She inhaled, lifting her hand to cover his, and he signaled his intent, dropping his eyes to her mouth.

By damn, that mouth.

He was bending down to her before he consciously decided to, eager for the kiss and the warm molding of her lips, to know how she tasted and how she'd take him, too.

She squeezed his fingers tight enough to grind his knuckles together, and jerked her head ninety degrees to the side. Just as his lips were beginning to purse and his eyes to drop shut.

So clearly – _no_.

And now, he felt the fool. Okay, first rein in the lips, and crank the neck back to upright and stamp down the disappointment and – humiliation?

Of everything he could have said, he controlled his reaction to a repetition of her name, quiet request for explanation. "Gwen?"

She shook her head without looking at him, and said nothing. Released his fingers, but he didn't try to touch her again, only backed half a step, and tried again.

"Hey, I'm sorry if I – made a mistake, here, I thought –"

She shook her head again, more vigorously. "It's not you," she told the corner of the kitchen. "You weren't wrong. You're very attractive, I can't help but think of – of _you_ , but… but… I _can't_."

Whirling away from him – and whisking _tears_ from her face – she hurried across the open space of the apartment.

"Wait – Gwen," he called after her, but she disappeared. And a door shut – not slammed, but firm and definite.

He stood there in her apartment, looking at half the cold acorn-squash soup in the tureen and their two sets of dirty dishes. And she might be crying in her bedroom, but he couldn't hear over the faint party noise from the café beneath. His hands were heavy at his sides and he was _far_ out of place, and usually his relationships with women who weren't really his friends, ended because he told them he didn't and couldn't love them. Not because he hinted that he wanted more, and special.

So. He could go rap on her door to ask if she was all right. And she could holler back to leave her alone, get out of her house. Of course then, he'd have to obey.

Or he could get his jacket and shoes and walk out first. And keep to campus and shrug off inquiries from Merlin and Freya. Do his best to avoid thinking of the embarrassment, maybe even retell himself the story and believe it, of the strange girl who owned a café in that small town. That is, if he was going to go back to his life in DC and leave all this – all friendships – behind.

And he didn't want that. He knew Gwen, now, enough to realize there was something bothering her, more than just mixed-signals-awkwardness. He cared about her. And Merlin, and Freya.

Pushing up his sleeves, Arthur went quietly about washing their dishes – soap and drainplug on a holder at the back corner of the sink – drying them on a towel hung over the oven handle. Placing the tureen with its lid on, in the fridge, and stacking the clean dishes on the counter right next.

Then he sat on the couch. And time passed.

If she remained in her room, he'd leave when Elyan came home. At least he could apologize to her brother for… whatever it was he'd done. At least she'd know he hadn't just left in a huff. And, if Elyan didn't come home when he closed the café – for whatever reason – well, then… Arthur supposed he would, hm…

A soft noise from the hall alerted all his senses before he consciously identified it – a door opening.

He sat forward to the edge of the couch as she came into view, dabbing at her nose with a tissue. And she stopped, looking first into the kitchen for a long moment, before turning to see him still in her apartment. He readied himself to handle her reaction, whatever it might be, as gently and gracefully as he could.

"You're still here," she said blankly. He pushed to his feet, but that was all. She added, "And you did dishes."

He almost said, _One-time thing_. But opted instead for, "I didn't want to leave if you weren't okay."

She looked away from him, huffing in cynical self-derision. "That boat has _sailed_ , Arthur."

He dared take a few steps toward her. "I don't understand."

"You're about the only one." She shook her head, sounding slightly stuffy from crying, and applied the tissue to her nose again. "Around here, everyone _knows_ – it was nice to meet someone who didn't, it was nice to feel normal, with you. I didn't… I _truly_ didn't think you'd ever think of us as more than friends. Or that you'd be so…" Words failed, and she waved at him with the tissue.

"So what?" he asked.

"So _you_."

That didn't explain anything. "What do I not know?" he said, taking three more steps that brought him within touching range – though this time he kept his hands to himself.

She looked at him, eyes slightly red and puffy, but so sad. And yet still lovely. "I," she declared fatalistically, "was engaged."

"Oh," he said. And then, meaning sank in. _Was_ engaged meant it hadn't worked out, and engagements never _ended_ , well. " _Oh_."

"No," she said to his understanding, jarring him a bit. "He was the only guy I ever went out with, all through high school. I was head over heels for him. We were going to get married after I graduated."

Arthur remembered her saying, _I didn't do what I thought I'd do, after graduation_. He didn't quite touch her elbow, guiding her to the couch. She slumped over her knees; he sat sideways to face her – with her, but giving her space, at the same time. "What happened?"

"It was Halloween. He was the assistant scoutmaster of a Boy Scout troop, they went camping not far from here. Tents and fires and s'mores, he said." Gwen tucked her elbows in, turning the crumpled tissue over in her hands, unseeing, and Arthur caught the first hint of the fact that the engagement hadn't ended in the traditional sense; he held his breath. "They said it was… a serial killer. They said there was evidence Lancelot fought back, but… um.

"That whole week, there were rumors they were hunting the person responsible with dogs. Then they said, they were sure he left the area. Never caught him, either… That morning, though, that next morning. Our house phone rang, and rang again. Parents showed up at the meeting place to pick up their kids, and no one was there. The scoutmaster's wife said she couldn't get him to answer his cell. They'd called the police chief. Search and rescue, I don't know, in case there had been an accident, and one of the boys… My dad let me come with him, driving in his Ford pickup, down to the campground to see what was going on."

Gwen huddled in on herself, staring down at the gold-and-olive leaves of the area rug without seeing them. Arthur took a chance that she'd be receptive to some physical comfort – he needed some himself, maybe – and eased next to her, slipping his arm lightly around her shoulders, but he couldn't tell that she even noticed.

"When we got there. It was… body bags. Some of those gray emergency blankets covering – the small bodies."

Shock isolated Arthur momentarily. He bit his tongue on an exclamation of, _wait_ all _of them?_

"My dad tried to catch me back – I think I hit his arm away. And Lancelot…"

She squeezed her eyes shut and shook her head, as though he'd asked her to describe the scene, and she couldn't. He tightened his arm, pulling her into his side, and she didn't resist.

"He was covered in blood. Just…" She was shaking now, and he touched her hair, pressing her head to his shoulder, letting her rock him too, so his weight might slow and calm her movement. "Just, gone. And, for a long time, it felt like my life ended with his. I wanted my life to end with his. It still feels like, when I remember him I feel guilty that I forgot about him for a while. That I should be thinking of him all the time, even though I know that's not particularly healthy."

"Yeah, I know," Arthur said into her hair, thinking of Morgana. And she relaxed against him by degrees. He remained silent, though questions and advice alike occurred to him, his own grief over losses was recent enough to remind him, it had to come from within, or it was resented.

Finally she said, "That's why I can't do Halloween."

He thought of fake blood on Kara's dress, and understood.

Gwen added, "I haven't been out with anyone else, since. For a while, no one asked. And then, when a few guys did, it was like – I saw in their eyes, they were thinking about Lancelot. Wondering if I was thinking of him, maybe, and I was. I didn't want to love anyone else, because it felt like I would stop loving Lancelot then, and the thought made me feel… disloyal."

A bit like how he'd felt guilty resenting Morgana's absences, during the time when she'd been _gone_ , and he hadn't known.

"When you came." She twisted a little under his arm to look at him, and he met her eyes. "You were different. You didn't know. I felt… _free_ , with you. And then… guilty that I felt free, if that makes sense." She shuffled herself back under his arm, and it made him feel complete. That he could give her something, here and now when she needed it. "I don't want to be alone, forever," she admitted softly. "But I _don't_ want to fall for a guy who's leaving in the spring and I'll never see him again."

Arthur hummed, still unable to find the words for how he felt. As if he'd only just realized, he didn't have to live in DC, or own and manage a string of hotels as his livelihood, the rest of his life. His father and his father's expectations were gone, and he could _choose_. That made him feel free, and slightly guilty, too.

"You're the only girl who's ever looked at me and seen… someone who could be a friend. You're the only one who thinks the way I do, about business." Gwen drew her feet up, leaving her slippers on the rug, then shook her hair away from between them to lean back against him comfortably, content now to listen. "In the spring, I honestly don't know what I'm going to do. But I mean, there _is_ a choice to be made now, the way I see it."

She nodded, understanding.

"Now, I'm not… proposing." He wiggled against her to shake a little of their seriousness away, without diminishing the depth of significance to her confidence, or the weight of the tragic deaths, objectively. "But… a second date, might be nice."

"Yeah," she said quietly. "Yeah."

They sat a moment, before he ventured, "Do you want to tell me – what he was like?" Because it wasn't fair for him to be anything but completely accepting of her feelings, then or now.

A moment more, til she pushed herself up from the couch, away from him. He worried briefly, but she only claimed the open book from the small desk by the door, and returned to the couch, taking up the same position cuddled up to his side, without commenting on it.

"This was him," she said, pointing to the last picture on the top row of the page.

Arthur took the book to see it more clearly, realizing it for a high school yearbook. Something she'd had out, paging through, walking down memory lane… An idea occurred to him, to wonder if Lone Oak did yearbooks like ordinary high schools. He'd check the library, maybe he could get an idea of who Morgana had been close to, teachers or students, during those years. If they did candid photos of events or clubs or whatever.

"He was so nice," she said. The picture showed a handsome boy – gentle smile – dark wavy hair worn long. "Always a gentleman. He made me feel special, always thinking of my feelings. He was older than me by a few years – I was flattered when he asked me out, I thought it would never last, he was way too good for me, but – he stayed with me. And wanted me to stay with him. It was… really easy, loving him."

"You were happy," Arthur said.

"I was," Gwen agreed, wiping away a single tear as she looked at the picture. "We were young and life was simple."

Still thinking of Morgana – of Merlin and Freya, and Percival and his autistic brother, Gwaine and his ex-girlfriend who'd chosen not to be the mother of his child – he said lightly, "I'm not sure life is ever simple."

"Life seemed simple," she corrected herself without taking offense. "Tomorrow… I'm going to take some flowers to his grave. If you want to come…"

Arthur hummed agreement. "If you'll come to my sister's with me, next week."

She twisted to see his face again. "That's the anniversary, then?"

He nodded, understanding why Morgana's death and whatever stories or rumors had been told about it, had failed to make an impression on Gwen. _I was really focused on my own problems, those couple of years_ … And he was very thankful that Merlin and Freya had come into Gwen's life, that she'd gotten closer with her own brother, after losing her fiancé.

"I should go, though," he realized. "You're probably exhausted. And if Elyan finds me here with you all teary, he'll chop me for hamburger."

Gwen managed a laugh that sounded nearly normal, unfolding herself from the couch and stepping back into her slippers. "It's been a long time since he had to use that threat – when did he say that to you?"

"He didn't. Merlin did." Arthur shrugged into his jacket, noticing but not protesting when she fitted her arms into a lavender jacket over the blue-green sweatshirt. "You're going to walk me home?"

Small smile, but genuine. "I'll walk you to your car. And look in on Elyan in the café downstairs."

 **A/N: Okay, but the night isn't over…**


	11. The Conclusion of a Date

**Chapter 11: The Conclusion of a Date**

Outside, the sky was black, the wind bitterly chill. Stray leaves from the residential sections of town skittered nervously along asphalt, and Arthur's body felt stiff with resistance to the temperature, clopping down the staircase along the side of the café toward the street.

Gwen clopped along behind him. "Where'd you park?"

"Half a block down." He pointed.

It was too late for underage treat seekers anymore, but the café was not the only place on Main Street still open; its front door spilled light and sound and warmth onto the sidewalk.

A girl's voice said sarcastically, "It was only a _joke_. Can't you take a joke?"

Arthur came around the front corner of the building to see a young couple beside one of the cars at the curb – Freya in the Dorothy blue gingham, which meant that her companion was Merlin. A moment later Arthur realized Freya's hand was on Merlin's back as he bent and retched into the gutter – and that two of the people crowding into the doorway of the café were Dracular Mordred and Kara.

A joke that made Merlin, of all people, vomit in the street in front of a crowded café, everyone watching with expressions of revulsion and amusement through the windows.

"What the hell," Arthur demanded, stepping toward Merlin and Freya. Behind him, Gwen had turned to the door of the café, hands rising to her hips.

Elyan, behind Mordred and Kara, asked, "How much of the punch did he have?"

Freya rounded on Arthur as he approached – expression totally at odds with Dorothy's costume and pigtails – and _hissed,_ without seeming to recognize him initially. He stopped, and turned a stern look on Mordred, who seemed the more reasonable of the pair.

"I conjure vision of ghost," he explained in his eastern-European accent, which seemed to match his costume very well. "Your Civil War soldier."

"All right, this is done," Gwen announced. "Elyan, closing in ten minutes. Get everyone out and on a safe way home." She moved next to Arthur, who stood still as he thought Freya had warned him to. "Merlin, are you –"

Hunched over some car's rear bumper, he threw out one hand behind him – _stay where you are_ – before a shudder rippled through his black-clad form. And he disappeared. Arthur felt a moment of alarm; Freya whirled and stalked toward him, frowning in disappointment.

"Dammit," she said vehemently, startling Arthur with the first foul language he'd heard from her.

"I'm sorry," Gwen said to her. "He's gone home, hasn't he?"

"I guess." Freya passed them on Gwen's side, pulling wide blue ribbons from her pigtails and handing them to Gwen. "Arthur, I'm not riding back with you."

"All right," he said, uncomprehending. "But…"

Gwen backed to follow Freya into the alley at the side of the café, motioning for Arthur to remain. "No, don't."

So he simply stood still. Freya and then Gwen disappeared into the darkness past the stairs that led to the apartment.

Elyan turned back into the café, shouting the announcement for closing time. Kara shouldered her way out first, tossing her movie-starlet-waves out of the way of the fake blood smear down her neck and bodice, stalking down the street toward the school. Mordred held Arthur's eyes for a moment, a little frown on his normally expressionless face that felt apologetic to Arthur, somehow, before he turned to follow his girlfriend.

There were three more students from Lone Oak still there – he wondered about curfew, then thought maybe it had been relaxed for Halloween, then wondered how late it was. Wondered if Merlin or Freya was supposed to have been chaperoning – then realized he was a teacher, too. So he put his hands on his hips and gave them his best boardroom stare as they slipped self-consciously out of the café door.

"Is that all of you?" he asked.

Sophia Tiermore was with them, costumed as Marilyn Monroe. "Yeah."

"None of our students anywhere else in town?" She exchanged a glance with the other two, then shook her head. Arthur said, "Get in the car," finding his keys and remotely unlocking the Chrysler parked at the curb half a block toward the school.

Right next to where Mordred and Kara were walking; she jumped as the lights flashed and the horn gave a single brief honk.

Arthur hollered at them, "Get in, I'll drive you."

Back in the alley, a dumpster rattled. Arthur glanced in the direction of the sound, his movement crossing the swoop of a large dark shadow close overhead, and he snapped around again to glimpse Freya's creature shape, the black panther she called a Bas, plying wings steadily against the night air in the direction of the school.

Not so fast as Merlin, but faster still than Arthur's car. He took a step toward it, then paused again when Gwen called his name. She jogged down the stair from her apartment carrying a plastic grocery sack in one hand, and a pair of realistically-ruby flat shoes in the other.

"Freya's stuff," she explained breathlessly, handing them to him. "She carried the dress to put back on once she's there."

Arthur stopped his thought because of course it was logical, but not very decorous. "She'll be with him," he said; it wasn't really a question. Gwen nodded, still catching her breath from hurrying, still worried about Merlin. He dared to add, "And tomorrow?"

Gwen blinked at him. Then her mouth relaxed into something that more nearly resembled a smile. "Drive north along Main Street til you get to the edge of town," she said, giving directions to the cemetery where her murdered fiancé was buried. "Then go another mile. I'll be there at noon."

"Then you'll see me," he promised.

She started to say something else, but someone honked his car horn, startling them both. And Elyan leaned out the café's Dutch door to call, "Tell Merlin I'm sorry, all right?"

Arthur acknowledged with a wave, said a silent goodbye to Gwen with his eyes, and strode to the driver's door of the Chrysler. Sophia and her two friends in the back; Mordred and Kara sharing space in the front. Arthur climbed in, slammed the door, and started the engine.

It was a mostly quiet drive back to Lone Oak. Quick, so the awkwardness wasn't prolonged, and Arthur didn't think it was a terrible thing that the students felt his displeasure in the silence.

Sophia ventured, "We're really sorry, we didn't know…" Kara shifted into Mordred's side to give the other girl a withering glare that Arthur caught from the corner of his eye. Sophia added defiantly, "Merlin will be all right, won't he?"

"He always is," Mordred offered unexpectedly.

Arthur said nothing. And let them out by the opposite door at the end of the student's wing of the dorm building, pausing only long enough to watch the door close behind the group.

He parked his car again in the teachers' lot – noticed that the lounge appeared to be hosting its own party – and took the stairs to the second floor two at a time.

Where he found Freya in a huddle of crumpled blue-and-white gingham, wild-haired and despondent, at the foot of the door of 205. She looked up at him as he approached; didn't say anything, but took the hand he offered to help her up.

"What happened?" he said.

"Ghosts," she said succinctly. "Stupid joke. Merlin…"

"Merlin what?" he prompted.

She leaned both palms and an ear against the door of the room, before answering.

"He _panicked_ ," she whispered, and Arthur's eyebrows flew upward on their own. "I've never seen that look on his face – something like terror and anger, all together… He was up on his feet before I could blink and he had _fireballs_ ready to throw… And. I think people took that as a joke also, but when he _realized_ , it was just an apparition… It only took a second, but I think… maybe what he was about to do, made him sick to his stomach. At the thought, you know, what if he _had_ released that fire, in there…"

Arthur understood so completely his stomach cramped in unpleasant sympathy. He'd felt that himself, looking back on the memory of standing in Freya's classroom with a broken mop handle.

"Is he okay?" he asked, gesturing at the closed door.

She shook her head, touching the doorknob as her eyes gleamed with the gold of magic – but nothing happened. "He's locked me out."

"Really?" Arthur said incredulously, thinking vaguely of the awkward necessity of involving the headmaster, at this time of this night – or where else he himself might sleep.

She looked at him. "Try your key."

If her magic couldn't get in the room, how did she think a bit of ordinary metal would help? Arthur fished it out obligingly, inserted and turned it – and unlocked and opened the door.

Freya pushed past him – then rocked back from the threshold, indecision illuminated by Merlin's desk-lamp, across the room. "Maybe…" she whispered. "Maybe what he needs right now is you."

"Whoa," Arthur protested, but she shook her head at his denial.

"Another guy. Not as familiar, and ordinary. Maybe he doesn't need sympathy, so much as someone to… drag him back to solid ground."

Arthur wanted to retreat. Fast, and keep going. "How the hell am I supposed to do that?" he hissed.

She shrugged. "Just be yourself. He does like you for reasons, you know." She bent to take the plastic bag – shoes protruding awkwardly from the top – from his fingers. And added sadly, "Happy Halloween, Arthur."

"I swear," he said to her as she moved for the stairwell, "somewhere in there, he really does love you."

"Deep down," she said, with melancholy sarcasm, and then she was gone.

Arthur grimaced to himself, closed and locked the door behind him. Waited for a moment, listening – heard nothing – flipped the overhead light on because the main room was obviously unoccupied, and went to the bedroom doorway.

Merlin was a black shadow on his yellow-and-red plaid cover. The hood of his sweatshirt over his head, obscuring his face as he curled into the cool white-washed cement of the wall. His position was so vulnerably childlike it made Arthur cringe; grown men did not lie that way.

"Hey," he said, experimentally – and utterly lost, otherwise. But at least, ready to try.

Merlin grunted, and there was pain in the sound. But he was awake, and willing for Arthur to know it. Arthur retreated momentarily to get a coffee mug full of water from the sink – and turn off the overhead light – before returning to the bedroom.

"Here," he said, nudging Merlin's shoulder. "Sit up and drink some water. You'll feel better."

For a moment Merlin didn't move. Then he did, clawing and dragging himself around and semi-upright.

"I'm not drunk, Arthur," he said, and he sounded amused. But he also sounded hoarse and breathless, and when he took the mug from Arthur's hand, his fingers felt like ice, and trembled.

"Bad night?" Arthur said lightly, going to sit on his own bed, with his back to the wall and his feet up. He kicked his shoes to the floor as Merlin swallowed at least one mouthful of water, by the sound, since the light was dim.

"It ain't over yet," Merlin said fatalistically.

Arthur grunted. "You need staff, you know that? Gaius is crazy to expect you to do this on your own."

"George did."

Arthur wasn't having it. "And everyone says, you're doing a much better job. No reason you shouldn't have help with it."

Merlin said, "You were with Gwen tonight? How did that go?"

Arthur sighed, but allowed the deliberate change of subject. "Cold soup is good when Gwen makes it. Salad, too."

"And?"

He and his friends in DC never hesitated to dissect each other's dates, after the fact, but what he had with Gwen was so new and young, he wasn't sure he wanted to expose it to another person's scrutiny. But probably Gwen would say something of the evening to Freya.

Arthur said, "I tried to kiss her."

Merlin's shadow moved, abruptly gaining sharp angles. Arthur thought about water thrown into his face, even from across the room. He thought about _fireballs_ , but continued with brutal honesty.

"She dodged me, and ran crying to her room."

" _Arthur_." Merlin scooted to the edge of his bed, leaning forward over his knees, though it was too dim to see facial expression clearly – and his was still shadowed by his sweatshirt hood. "What did you do?"

"I did the dishes." Arthur waited for his roommate to snicker or mock, but Merlin did neither, so he added, "Then I sat on her couch and waited for her to calm down, and she finally came out. And told me about Lancelot."

Merlin exhaled. "And then…"

"I don't know. We're all right, I guess. Still friends, maybe a bit more. I'm seeing her tomorrow."

"At the cemetery?" Merlin guessed. If it had become a habit for Gwen, it was no surprise that her friends would be aware of it.

"Yeah."

Merlin considered silently for a moment. Took another drink, then set the mug down on the floor. As he folded himself back into a nearly-fetal position on his bed, he said, "I'll do everything I can to help you make her happy. But if you're just going to mess around and move back to the city and carry on dating someone else –"

"I don't want to date someone else," Arthur said, and realized it was true. "And yes, I know what I might be getting into, give me some credit. And she might decide I'm no good for her anyway. But I'm not ready to say, this will never work. All right?"

Merlin grunted, shuffling around on his bed like he couldn't find a comfortable position, and Arthur was climbing to his feet before he thought, tugging at the tartan cover.

"Get under this at least, if you're going to sleep in your clothes. And take the hood down, huh? You look like the Grim Reaper. Give _me_ nightmares."

"Shut up," Merlin said, obeying Arthur's nonverbal commands to shift himself into bed properly.

"You'll be better tomorrow, right?" Arthur said. "Halloween over, and all?"

"Give me a week." Merlin groaned, trying to relax. "Maybe a few more days."

"I'll tell Gaius you're calling in sick in the morning," Arthur stated, and Merlin made exactly the same sort of grunt of sarcastic pain he had when Arthur first came in.

Arthur readied himself for bed, turned off the desk lamp and crawled between his own sheets, wishing he could affect good dreams for his roommate.

Whether someone heard the wish, or whether Merlin didn't ever fall deeply enough asleep to have nightmares, Arthur slept through to the morning without hearing any disturbances.

And he was gone when Arthur opened his eyes, the ketchup-and-mustard bedspread straightened neatly. Which was good, actually, it would have been far more worrisome to see that Merlin felt poorly enough to neglect the morning rounds of his chosen profession.

Arthur dressed and took his cup of coffee to the teacher's lounge, where Aglain was playing a desultory round of pool against himself on the magically-changeable table.

"Morning," Arthur said neutrally, crossing to check the refrigerator, and choosing a raisin bagel.

"Happy New Year," the dark-skinned druid said solemnly, bending to line up the cue ball with the bright orange 5.

Whatever. Arthur added, "Seen Merlin?"

Aglain straightened. "We are not always the men we would be; often, we are the men we would rather we were not. If we would be forgiven, then we must be willing to forgive."

Arthur had nothing to say to that. But it seemed rude somehow to keep spreading cream cheese on a bagel, as the man stared at him, deeply philosophical.

After an uncomfortable moment, Aglain added, "Miss Lacosta expressed the intention of accompanying him about the campus on his rounds. I believe she shifted to her creature form for the exercise."

Then they wouldn't want him. He said, remembering another idea, "Does Lone Oak do yearbooks?"

"The Journalism class does a small one every year." Aglain named one of the teachers who lived off-campus, lining himself up for another shot. "They keep copies archived in the library."

Arthur swallowed the last of his bagel on the stair. On the weekend very few of the students elected to go into the classroom building, but the library and gym were both open. Two girls who were not in any of Arthur's classes – though vaguely familiar from one of Freya's – were studying at one of the small tables. They gladly – shyly – pointed him in the direction of the yearbooks.

He cocked his head sideways, following the dates embossed on the narrow spines, and soon picked the four from Morgana's years. Aware that the two girls were watching him and whispering curiously, he tucked them into the crook of his elbow, signed them out at the unmanned circulation desk, and smiled at the student pair as he left.

Back in his room, Arthur opened the last book first. Superscription: _Dedicated to Morgana Dubois – you will be missed._

Arthur swallowed hard, and paged through… but he hadn't counted on the fact that his sister had attended less than a third of the year. Aside from the vibrantly smirking portrait in the top row on the senior page, he couldn't readily locate any photos she was in, nor mention of her name. Not without page-by-page scrutiny which – he checked his watch – he didn't have time for.

Stacking the yearbooks – stiff shiny-black covers stamped with the wide-limbed school oak – on the back corner of his desk, he grabbed jacket and keys and turned his car toward Culpeper again.

As he approached the gate, he saw a couple standing near one of the rosebushes that framed the drive, and realized it was Freya and Merlin. She wore a long skirt of dark blue or black that blew against her legs, and a sweatshirt he recognized as Merlin's. The fingers of their hands were linked, and they appeared deep in earnest conversation, but Merlin looked up as Arthur passed – and returned his wave, followed a moment after by Freya.

Which reassured Arthur. And helped to still a niggling doubt that he ought to have done an additional unspecified _something_ for his new friend, this difficult month. Or maybe it had helped Merlin for Arthur to be distracted from his malaise and treat him normally, if his other friends at the school habitually worried over him too much.

Arthur took the right turn at Main Street, coasted through four green lights, to a point he'd consider the edge of town. Then another mile to a small cemetery, headstones like shy mushrooms under a comprehensive canopy of old maples.

She was the only one there. At a sudden thought Arthur glanced about for any indication of general Halloween mayhem, and was relieved to see the sad, stately old place seemed untouched. He parked behind an older-model Ford pickup of opaque gray, tried to shut his door quietly, and joined her.

Jeans over boots, her hands hidden in the pockets of her lavender jacket, a black beret-style cap over her curls, pulled long over one shoulder. She didn't turn, though she must have heard him crunching through more than half the season's leaves. His heart ached to see her there. Grieving, still, holding the past close. He supposed he couldn't fault her there, though.

And didn't take her into his arms as he wanted to, only shoved hands in his own coat pockets and stood silent at her side.

 _Lancelot_. A small pot of blood-purple mums, with a single white rose at the foot of the pot, and the young man's dates ended in the same number. Not yet twenty-one. And he'd been sure enough of his love for the young woman standing at Arthur's side to express the intention of marriage.

Incredible, when Arthur still found the idea so intimidating.

"He was quiet," Gwen said. "Kind. He didn't tease…" It wasn't a criticism of Arthur's light-hearted treatment of their relationship, and he didn't take it as such. "Just… always a gentleman. Never looked at another girl. Always ready to help… His neighbor was the scoutmaster, that's how he got into it, but he loved the kids." She stared at the headstone and added softly, as if to herself, "He would have made a great father."

Arthur lifted his head to gaze around, listening to the stillness. Wondering if there was any truth to Aglain's claims of spirits roaming, All Hallows' Eve, or what. His eye was caught by a fresh white rose on a grave not far away – and then two more – and then another.

"What are the white roses for?" he asked quietly.

She looked, but she already knew what he was talking about. "One for every boy in that troop. Lancelot, and the scoutmaster. Every year. I used to think the scoutmaster's wife did it – she had twin sons in the troop, I can't imagine trying to live with that kind of loss, can you? – but she moved after a couple of years, and they keep coming. One of the other parents, maybe."

Arthur had a different thought. "Did Merlin know Lancelot?"

That might explain his reaction to this time of year, too – new to the school, but powerful and sensitive, Arthur had been told. For this kind of tragedy to occur so soon, so close, maybe…

But Gwen gave him a blank look. "No, I don't think so. I don't really remember seeing him around Culpeper until the next year and Freya was here as a freshman. I think he was pretty introverted til he met her."

"She's good for him," Arthur commented.

"That she is," Gwen agreed softly, her eyes on the gravestone of her fiancé.

…..*….. …..*….. …..*….. …..*….. …..*…..

Sunday afternoon, caught up on sleep and steadied by the memory of Saturday afternoon spent with Gwen – short road trip to a nearby town that actually had a Starbucks – Arthur sat down at his desk, alone in the room, to look at the yearbooks.

It made his heart hurt. It made him smile.

Morgana as he remembered her, 14-15-16… just seventeen. With her chin up and a challenging sparkle in her eye. Surrounded by, the various candid shots proclaimed, an ever-changing crowd of… acquaintances, at least. Nowhere did he see the same person more than twice. No one's arm around Morgana's shoulder or hers around theirs, foreheads tilted amiably together. As Gwen had described her, too.

But, something else caught his attention.

In very nearly a third of the pictures spanning three years and part of a fourth, there was a teacher – the one Gwen had mentioned, maybe? That wasn't unusual as the photos themselves went, the student:teacher ratio was private-boarding-school low. But often enough to excite Arthur's notice, this teacher was looking at Morgana, as the photo was taken. He studied the most recent one he could find, some picnic or impromptu carnival out-of-doors at the end of Morgana's junior year. The smile on the face of the woman with long wavy blonde hair was something like triumphant pride. It was familiar; it was possessive.

Arthur turned back to the page featuring the staff, and found the woman's name. Emie Morgause. Evidently Cory Sigan had taken her place when she left the school, though Arthur wasn't sure what year that had been.

Propping the yearbook open on his desk with his empty coffee mug to keep the pages from closing, Arthur keyed his laptop for another search.

It didn't take long.

A small article in a big paper. Fredericksburg, not Culpeper, the _Free Lance Star._ A tragic accident at the National Guard armory, an explosion of a munitions storage shed had claimed nearly a dozen lives. One of whom was Emie Morgause, thirty years of age, a local teacher and magic-user who had been present for a training session in an advisory capacity.

Arthur grimaced at the screen. Another dead-end – literally this time, if the pun wasn't offensively inappropriate. Couldn't locate and contact Ms. Morgause for information on his sister's –

"Wait a minute," Arthur breathed to himself, scrolling up. The date…

He stared at the numbers, backward and forward to make sure, because – damn, it couldn't be coincidence.

Emie Morgause had died at the National Guard armory the day before Morgana had evidently swallowed an entire bottle of sleeping pills at Lone Oak Academy.

Arthur sat back, pushing his chair crookedly outward from his desk. _Get to know and understand young people just like your sister_ , Gaius had advised. Freshmen who hated and feared themselves and everyone around them and magic itself. Seniors apprehensive about joining an ordinary society. All the ages, to a certain extent, alienated from family and friends and sometimes permanently.

And oh the difference a mentor could make.

Someone to look up to, follow and trust, for guidance and acceptance and hope, that life will eventually work out. _Gaius was there for me_ , Merlin had said, offering employment and a home to return to. And now Merlin called him, _family too_.

If Ms. Morgause had been that for his sister. Morgana who hid and denied and defied emotion til even Arthur could only guess at what might be beneath the brave glittering exterior. He could very well believe that the shock and loss of such a person – a mother-replacement, maybe also? – combined with the various edgy fears that compounded magic-users' trials of youth, might have affected Morgana that deeply, with no one the wiser. In a moment of depression and despair, she might have chosen _not_ to leave Lone Oak. Not to outlive the person who might have been her role model and source of strength.

He leaned back and slouched down, wishing with a heartache that made tears sting and threaten to escape the corners of closed eyes, that _they'd_ had the sort of relationship that Morgana could have turned to for comfort.

The door opened, startling him but little, and Merlin – for it could be no one else – let it close behind him. Then, "Arthur? Are you all right?"

"Yeah," he said. Opened his eyes and thumbed away extra moisture. "Just doing some – research."

Merlin nodded acceptance of the excuse, glancing at Arthur's computer screen as he headed for his desk – and froze mid-step, his body rocking slightly in something that puzzled Arthur as shock.

 _Extreme_ shock, because nothing shocked Merlin.

He said stiffly, "What… in the…" Expletives and color failed him. "Is that?"

"Research, I said." Arthur realized, and added apologetically, "You knew her, I guess? Was she a teacher of yours, your first year here?"

"Yeah." Merlin's eyes were black, face pale and pulled tautly venomous. Which shocked Arthur. "Yeah, she was."

There was familiarity there, too. And a very odd antipathy, from someone as easygoing as Merlin, if Emie Morgause had been the sort of woman for Morgana to look up to.

Halfway hoping to provoke some honesty – because he was asking one magical staff-person to inform on another to an outsider, essentially – he ventured, "She seemed nice. The article said she was volunteering consultation skills when she was killed… pretty tragic, huh?"

Merlin's eyes never left Arthur's screen. "Do _not_ believe everything you read. That woman was evil incarnate, a manipulative lying _bitch_ who got a lot of people killed for _nothing_ before she was stopped."

Okay… what? Arthur said, "We're talking about the same person? Emie –"

"Morgause," Merlin spat the name.

Arthur started to tease, just to jar his roommate out of his inexplicable and unnerving temper. "Who are you and what have you done with my…"

Merlin took a single step forward, looking down at the yearbooks on Arthur's desk, three of which were stacked open, layered over each other so each of Morgana's pictures would show. And then he looked at Arthur, and words died.

Gone was the intimidating, determinedly protective security officer. Nowhere to be seen, the goofy-cheerful upperclassman. Merlin looked young, scared-nervous-vulnerable. Like Arthur was a stranger bent on violence and destruction, discovered inside a childhood home.

"What are you doing with those," he whispered.

Arthur sighed, and said, "My sister."

Merlin blinked, his expression shifting a degree back toward normal maturity, but not following the connection into comprehension. Arthur picked up the topmost yearbook, thumbing from the staff page to the senior page. Morgana's last portrait.

"This was my sister," he said. "The one who died, and I came here because I wanted to understand magic-users? Morgana was my sister – ten years ago my father never told me, about her magic or that she was _gone_. When he died this spring, that's when I found out. And I didn't think that she would –"

Merlin backed an involuntary step. Then another, and another, til his heel hit one leg of his desk chair and he had to grab the edge of the desk to either side to avoid falling backwards onto it. But he didn't reposition his feet more solidly. "N-no," he stuttered. "You can't be. Her –"

"Brother," Arthur explained again.

"But you don't –" Such a puzzlingly extreme reaction, yet again; Merlin was clutching the desk as if it was the only thing keeping him upright. "She was a Dubois, you're a Pendragon, you _can't_ , it can't – you look _nothing_ alike."

"I look like our mom, she takes after our dad." Arthur realized something else. He'd initially assumed seniors and freshmen wouldn't mix. But Merlin remembered Morgana's last name instantly. Arthur rose to his feet, pointing at his roommate in discovery. "You knew her, didn't you? Merlin? You knew her?"

Merlin stared at him, deer-in-the-headlights - except there was an intelligent despair there, rather than merely dumb animal instinct of impending doom. He collapsed just slightly to sitting on the edge of the desk, shifted his gaze to the air beside Arthur. Then closed his eyes and nodded wordlessly.

Finally! Arthur exulted silently. And, how stupidly foolish not to just ask, right away! Although… he remembered his mindset, arriving at Lone Oak and meeting Merlin – his determination to sleuth out the truth, unknown himself. It now seemed a little juvenile, his insistence that _Morgana-would-never_ , stubbornly blind. Like his father, even.

But he couldn't just push his questions eagerly onto Merlin, interrogating one of Morgana's friends at last. It was clear that this revelation – and the memory – upset his friend.

"I needed to find out," he said, taking two steps closer. "You understand, don't you? I couldn't believe she'd just – swallow a bottle of sleeping pills."

Merlin lost all color – for a moment Arthur thought he was going to lose consciousness as well. "How much do you know?" he whispered. His knuckles at the edge of the desktop were white-tight, too.

"I thought maybe – senior year, and she wasn't sure, what would happen to her or what she would do, after graduation," Arthur said. "I thought maybe she was like you, and this time of year… affected her." He paused for Merlin's reaction; Merlin nodded, belatedly and dazed. "Then I wondered if maybe, she'd gotten close to this teacher, and Ms. Morgause's death was something like, the last straw. That one moment, that one day, and she… didn't see any other hope for her life."

A measure of strength seemed to solidify within Merlin at the mention of the teacher's name; he shook his head. "I think you should…" his voice sounded hoarse, and shook. "I think you should trust your memory of her. You're right that she looked up to Morgause. But any mentor worth a damn is going to leave their protégée _motivated_. Not… suicidal."

"So you think…" Arthur frowned, unhappy. In one weekend he'd gone from believing Morgana had made a mistake with illicit-but-innocent medication – to conceding the circumstances under which she might try to take her own life – to suspecting something else entirely. "Morgause was – what, more directly involved in Morgana's death? How could she have been, if she was killed the day before, at the armory?"

Merlin shook his head again. "I don't…" he said thickly. "I can't… answer that. I'm sorry. Arthur, I'm really… sorry I can't do this."

In a blink he'd slipped past Arthur, heading for the door. But he tripped over Arthur's desk chair – stubbed his toe against the bottom corner of the green vinyl couch, and slammed heavily into the door, fumbling _wide_ of the knob. Arthur watched him, astonished, as he sagged still for a moment.

Whimpered, "Ah, damn…"

Then vanished. And the spicy scent of his passing drifted to Arthur scant moments later.

He felt guilty. Because Merlin had a hard enough weekend – hell, call it what it was, the whole month – being sick and then being affected emotionally or magically or whatever, by Halloween and its busy-ness and the students' crap. And now Arthur had to go dragging up painful memories of a long-lost friend.

How well had Merlin known her, though, to react so strongly, after so long? It could have been no more than two months, give or take a couple of weeks – and yet Merlin had evidently formed equally strong feelings, of an opposite nature, for the teacher Morgana was close to.

If he couldn't see himself unkindly pressing Merlin for answers – if he'd even give them, and not blink and insist tangentially _I'm fine_ , before disappearing – who could Arthur talk to? Freya had not been here, yet, that year. Would Alice reveal truths, if he admitted he'd been deceptive? Not if it would prove painful, even in a roundabout way, to the young man she mothered like a comfortable, compassionate hen.

Arthur gazed out the window, and thought of someone.

The first person here at Lone Oak whom he'd posed these questions to. Who hadn't answered, instead advising him to come and absorb the atmosphere, learn the personalities and characters, understand the pressures. Who'd known Ms. Morgause as a near-peer, and had been ultimately responsible for Morgana's safety and well-being.

Arthur headed out to Dr. Gaius' cottage, weekend or not.


	12. Mentors and Motivation

**Chapter 12: Mentors and Motivation**

 _(ten years ago)_

 _Morgana hunched over her laptop on her bed, one bud in her ear streaming indie-rock, as she clicked through her social media messages._

 _Another one from Arthur. She sneered and deleted it unopened. Stupid inane boy-prattle about his stupid inane life, classes and teachers and sports and girlfriends, half-awkward because he felt obligated to email her occasionally, and half-boasting which was insufferable to her because he had. No. Idea._

This _was real life. Not macroeconomics and football stats and dorm pranks._ Magic _was life, in its glorious chaos that answered to her. Well… partly. Ms. Morgause promised that she'd only gotten a taste, a glimpse – the riches and power she already commanded! – of her potential._

 _Change the world, Morgause said. Show her father how wrong he was to hide her away in the Virginia countryside and lie like there was something wrong with her. Show Arthur he wasn't better than her, in any way._

 _Morgana could feel it, the change starting, coming. She mourned the lack of full memory her part in the ritual last week had denied her, but she_ felt _it. Such a strong magic, seven invincible warriors tethered to her life force until they had absorbed enough from outside sources to be self-sustaining. It was tiring, but she was ready to make the sacrifice for a good cause._

 _Her daydreaming was interrupted by a knock on her door._

 _Quick and light, uncertain yet insistent, somehow, and though she could identify half a dozen of her closer friends by the way they requested entrance, she didn't know who this might be. Briefly she considered ignoring her visitor, then shrugged. Homework was boring; she could deal with the minor distraction temporarily._

 _"It's open," she called._

 _The knob turned, the latch clicked open, and he opened the door. Again, both hesitant and insistent, and she rolled her eyes to see who it was. Again._

 _That sort of power should be in a different body. Six-two, one-eighty-five pounds, man-model gorgeous. Indications of Greek-godhood, even as a high-school freshman. Instead it got skinny-strange and annoyingly self-righteous._

 _"Can I come in," Merlin said. She shrugged; he glanced back to the hallway before shutting her door carefully and letting his question burst out. "Did you talk to her?"_

 _"Yes, I did." She sighed impatience. "I don't know why you're being so stubborn about this – and neither does Morgause. She's not happy with you, you know."_

 _"A Boy Scout troop, Morgana," he said, his eyes shining with fervent emotion rather than magic. "A Boy Scout troop. Nine kids – a dad – a college student. She admitted it was her skeleton soldiers?"_

 _Morgana suppressed a shiver. She remembered nothing after falling into the enchanted sleep in the cemetery, waking up the next morning in her bed like normal. No one else remembered even that much – except Merlin. So he claimed._

 _"No. She said, the news reported it was a serial killer." It was the way Morgause said it, though._ You and I know better, but if it suits your current psyche to deny, it makes no difference to _me. "She said our only concern was that she had ascertained the effectiveness of our first warriors, and gained them a measure of self-sustainment – and her next target will be military."_

 _He was shaking his head, hugging his skinny arms around his skinny chest. "Gaius interfered with that story in the paper. He knows it was magic, though I don't think he knows it was her."_

 _"Did he say that to you?" Morgana demanded mockingly._

 _"No – I could tell from the way he talked about it..._ Kids _, Morgana, innocent kids who were camping, and she used them to fuel her undead soldiers. Boy Scouts. They learn to be good citizens and treat people with equality and respect…" He looked like he was going to be sick all over the carpet in her room and she was not having that._

 _"And they were ordinary," she reminded him. "Not magic. No loss."_

 _"You don't mean that," he said, upset._

 _She looked at him again. Possibly trembling, as he stood there, pale as if his skin had never known sunlight. Dark circles under his eyes, his face gaunt under those cheekbones. He looked ill in a long-term way._

 _"Look, it doesn't matter," she said to placate him. "If Morgause says we're ready to take the fight to them, to match magic against the military –"_

 _"What's her next target?" he said abruptly. "No – you know what, it doesn't matter. Morgana, you've got to talk to her. Get her to see that it's wrong, what she's doing, what she's done. This isn't the way, raising skeleton soldiers and sending them to kill people she sees as enemies, and anyone who's just in the way –"_

 _"They are enemies, at least the military is," Morgana said sharply. "Do you think any of them would hesitate to kill her?"_

 _He made an impatient noise. "That's because she's made herself dangerous, she's made herself a threat they can't help but have to deal with, don't you see?"_

 _"I don't see why you're talking to me about this," Morgana said crossly, fixing her eyes to her screen and scrolling through the last hour's worth of posts, without really reading a single one._

 _"Because she's using your magic to do it – and mine!"_

 _"Exactly," Morgana said. "_ She's _using, not me. She makes the decisions, go talk to her."_

 _"I tried," he said. "I tried, she won't – she won't listen to me anymore, and I – I don't know what to do, Morgana, because more people are going to die, you know they are –"_

 _"It happens in war," she snapped._

 _He threaded skinny fingers into too-long black hair. "It's not a war, and will you please stop just repeating things she's said! It's – listen, the world we want, with no fear of magic, can't be forced, it won't work like that –"_

 _She'd heard it before. He was an idealist, Morgause was a realist – and Morgana knew which side of the fence she came down on. Her father had taught her some things, after all. Facing Merlin fully, she lifted her fingers to her lips and pretended to pat-cover a fake yawn of boredom._

 _His agitation fell into near-desperation. "I tried to tell Gaius."_

 _That straightened her spine. Because the oaths the group of Morgause's favorites had sworn and signed should prevent such a breach of loyalty. But – she relaxed into curiosity – he'd said_ tried _. "What happened?"_

 _"I literally couldn't say a word." Merlin collapsed onto her roommate's bed – hopefully she wouldn't walk in and curse Morgana for allowing it – huddled over his knees in a way that made his elbows look bony and his throat vulnerable as he looked at her. "In his office, claiming I had something important to tell him… I half-strangled myself trying, and he didn't even realize it was magic stopping me. He gave me a month of Saturday detention for throwing a tantrum."_

 _"Made a mess, did you?" Morgana smirked._

 _"I tried to tell Alice. I thought she'd recognize the enchantment, and at least realize something was wrong."_

 _Morgana started to say,_ Nothing is wrong with you but disloyalty _…_

 _He spoke right over her. "She said it was something that was going around – gave me cough drops and advised rest and soup. I tried to write it and my hand cramped for three hours the first time, and half the day the second. I thought bones might've been broken, except it wore off overnight. I tried to email the Star, and crashed half the computers in the lab. I tried to enchant a pencil to write for me, and started a fire in my room." He cocked his head and let out a horrible little laugh of fatalistic amusement. "Come to think of it, that might've been why Gaius was so short with me when I went to talk to him."_

 _"Well, just quit trying," Morgana said, trying to keep herself from being drawn in to the shock and horror of what he described, by reminding herself how strange he was all the time anyway. "Don't worry about it. Morgause is older than we are, and more clever and more powerful and more experienced. She knows what she's doing."_

 _"Is that why she's keeping Gaius – and everyone else – in the dark about this?" he retorted. "I even… This has to stop, Morgana. She's using our magic to commit crimes, and murder, and we're involved in whatever she does. She's a terrorist –"_

 _"Don't call her that," Morgana ordered, bridling._ Visionary _, rather._

 _His brows drew together in a pleading look. "I tried to kill myself," he said._

 _It was a statement entirely out of keeping in a school. In her room with the green-flowered bedspread and the string of pink fairy lights on the wall, socks and textbooks on the floor, and flirty selfies of her friends on her laptop screen. She said stupidly, "What?"_

 _"I am that serious about stopping her from doing whatever she's planning, that will only get more people killed. She won't listen to me, and I – I don't know what else to do. She's got my magic linked to hers to power her control of those things, and…"_

 _He shivered and a tear dropped on the knee of his jeans, the one without the ragged hole showing knobby kneecap. It made her feel highly uncomfortable; she wished he would just leave, and shut up about this forever._

 _"I tried to cut myself with a steak knife at dinner. I thought if I did it deep enough, enough times, no one could act quickly enough, but – I couldn't even bring the blade to touch my skin. Anywhere. I might see if I can get a bottle of pills from Alice's pharmacy – or walk into town for painkillers…" His voice dropped off into a depressed ramble._

I don't want to deal with this. Why should I have to deal with this? Why should I feel guilty, just because he does? That Boy-Scout thing was probably just an accident. Or someone else, like Morgause said.

 _"Don't do that," she ordered, older-sister brisk. "Look, I'll talk to her again, okay?"_

 _He ducked his head in reluctant surrender. "I don't suppose she'd care much if I did… kill myself. It's only the magic she cares about," he mumbled. "But she might listen to you. Otherwise, I don't know… I can't just sit back and watch it happen and say, it's not my fault, because that wouldn't be true."_

 _"I said I'd talk to her," Morgana repeated, unsettled and annoyed. "Now go – eat something or take a shower. Or a nap. Do your homework and… quit worrying about it."_

 _"Easier said than done," he said, giving her the sort of haunted look that didn't belong on a kid his age. He pushed to his feet and went to her door and she was glad that he'd shut it between them. Closing his anxiety out and leaving her to recover mental justification in peace._

 _"Thanks, Morgana," he said, slipping his body through the narrow opening._

 _"Yeah," she said._ Close the door _._

 _He did._

 _She stared at her computer screen, clicking blindly as the minutes passed, bringing her distance and increasing clarity. He was strange – so sensitive and so determined to take both blame and responsibility. Probably he was wrong about the Boy Scouts anyway. And Morgause was smart – her campaign would be successful._

 _But Morgana would at least talk to their teacher like she'd promised, and then her conscience would be clean._

…..*….. …..*….. …..*….. …..*….. …..*…..

It was, maybe, the last nice-weather day of the year. Mid-fifties and windy, but the sky was blown clear of clouds, and the afternoon sun was warm. Arthur was almost distracted from his thoughts, walking over Lone Oak's lawns to the headmaster's cottage, a quaint cozy little place huddled under and seeming to lean toward a middle-aged oak, spreading a garden like a skirt to the opposite side.

He walked up to the front door – no glass or screen, just weather-polished wood – and knocked. And waited.

And began to reconsider, what he might be interrupting on the old man's day off – when a gust of wind blew a snatch of conversation past his ear, drawing his attention to the garden. Leaving the front walk, he circled the shrubbery, heading for the gate.

And stopped before he came in sight of the speakers, to hear his own name spat furiously out of Merlin's mouth.

"…Can't believe you offered him a job! Her brother. _Her - brother_! You brought him here, and had him _room_ with me!" The worst of all insults or betrayals, by Merlin's tone, and it shocked Arthur into listening confusion.

"Merlin, when you get to be as old as I am, you learn that some things cannot be handled directly, but circumspectly, if they are to be handled at all, especially when it comes to matters of ordinary and grammarye," Gaius retorted.

"Circumspectly? Is that what you call it? You lied to us both – what did you think would happen, bringing _her brother_ here – how could you not tell me this, Gaius? Not even one word of warning, or preparation?"

Arthur felt a little guilty. And a lot curious to know why Merlin was so bothered. Just because they'd gotten to be good friends upon a less-than-complete premise?

"Merlin. Of course there were things I wouldn't – couldn't – tell him, when he first called looking for answers that he wouldn't – couldn't – understand properly. But after his time spent here, he might, and I thought it would be best for everyone if –"

"I have about had it –" Merlin in a slow, cold rage like Arthur had never heard; it gave him a chill up his spine – "with what you think is best for everyone."

"What would you change, then?" the headmaster challenged.

"You know damn well what I would change! It should've been me, anyway, not her!"

The response was hurled immediately, and maybe took Gaius aback for a moment; his answer was several seconds delayed. "Regardless. Merlin, you cannot continue like this, you are living half a life and giving too much of yourself to this job."

"That was your idea," Merlin accused.

"Even Arthur thinks I should hire someone to help you." Long pause. Then a gentler, softer, harder-to-hear, "Please my boy, you must trust my motives, even if my methods seem –"

"How can I trust you. After this."

Arthur cringed, wishing he could disappear, back to the room. If he moved an inch, he felt sure he'd snap a stick or jangle one of Merlin's invisible magical sensors, and be caught listening to a painfully private conversation. Any moment one or the other or both would come walking into sight around the cottage corner; he could see more than half the garden from here, gravel walks and tall bushes and a few still-blooming chrysanthemums by the far bench.

But it didn't happen. Arthur waited – and waited – til his heartrate calmed and his curiosity piqued. And he gave in, stepping carefully to the side, toward the gate, keeping an eye out for –

Gaius on a second bench near a side door to the cottage. Alone – Merlin had already departed, by magic, or ordinary means in the opposite direction – his hands motionless on his knees, white hair loose on slumped shoulders. As Arthur watched, the headmaster reached up to remove his spectacles, and rub his eyes. He was old, Arthur realized, and tired. And the situation was probably partly Arthur's fault, placing Gaius between himself and his desire to understand Morgana's death, and the old man's young security officer. _Don't tell anyone_ seemed so easy to say, when he didn't know any of them.

Arthur lifted the gate latch and let himself in, and Gaius alerted to his footfalls on the crunching gravel. He straightened on his seat, and adjusted his spectacles, but didn't stand. And didn't seem surprised to see Arthur, either, though he betrayed no suspicion that his earlier conversation had been overheard.

"I suppose you're irritated with me as well," he said, "that I didn't tell you I knew Merlin had been acquainted with your sister."

"Not… really," Arthur conceded. "Knowing Merlin, I'm not sure I'd have gotten any truth from him, if it was complicated with magic, or less than pleasant, before we really knew each other – and you probably realized that, didn't you. I'm sorry it was such a shock to him, finding out who my sister was, but once he's over that –"

Gaius leaned forward intently. "I am very glad to hear you say that," he said. "I told you this spring that you should come here and discover the pressures and heartaches most of our young people face, before you made a judgment in the matter of your sister's death – and I stand by that. You've begun well, it sounds like."

"What about Alice?" Arthur said. "I've asked her a few general questions, though she doesn't know who my sister was, either. Should I tell her?"

"I would wait," Gaius said, "until you've settled things with Merlin. Or Alice may be extremely cross with you and me, both."

Arthur nodded, but left the topic of strained relations and deception between himself and his roommate; they'd deal with that later, the two of them, when emotions settled.

"Something I don't understand," he said, shoving his hands in his pockets and feeling gravel grind beneath his shoes. "Emie Morgause."

Gaius' expression said, _Ah, that_ – but something in his eyes shuttered, at the same time.

"Someone told me something that made me think, Morgana was close to Ms. Morgause – and the proximity of their deaths can't be coincidence. But the news article on the accident at the armory makes Ms. Morgause sound like an upright example of virtue – yet Merlin can't stand the sight or mention of her. And Merlin stands Cory Sigan, pleasantly enough."

"Consider," Gaius said gently, "if your reaction to Miss Lacosta's shapeshifting had not been stopped in time." Arthur grimaced; he hadn't realized the headmaster had learned of that incident he was still ashamed of. "What ought the news media to report of that? How ought the courts to handle it? So often the truth about magic is deceptively subjective…"

Arthur's feet moved to begin pacing, aimlessly and slowly and thoughtfully. "I can see that," he admitted, thinking of what Gwen had said about truth and journalism. Depending on the publication, the incident might have stirred the ire of the magical community, one of their own set upon by an ordinary person, unprovoked. Or it might have been a springboard for diatribes and name-calling, monsters making monsters, and Freya's past dredged up to be splashed with more prejudiced hyperbole. "Do you mean that the news article about Ms. Morgause shaded the truth?"

"She didn't deserve one-fourth of what we implied about her," Gaius said, with surprising asperity. "But neither did Lone Oak or the students – or the magical community at large – deserve the scrutiny or retaliation that would have followed the truth."

Arthur made another pass, back and forth on the garden walk. "All right," he said finally. "Can you tell _me_ at least? What Morgause was like, and how her life or death affected my sister's choices?"

"I can't tell you everything," Gaius warned. "But what I can tell you, is true."

"Fair enough," Arthur agreed.

The old man shuffled sideways and patted invitation; the bench was long enough that joining him did not feel uncomfortable. But the stone was cold and the air unwelcoming – Arthur buried his hands in his pockets and hunched forward over his knees.

Gaius appeared not to notice the cold. "Morgause was – in retrospect – highly and professionally disingenuous. Not a one of my staff wasn't shocked to hear of her death and how it happened. She was good at appearances, and kept her true self hidden. From the very start. She came here, I afterward concluded, with the intention of secretly sifting through the young people of our community and choosing certain ones to fulfill her purpose."

Good at appearances… kept her true self hidden. The same could be said of Morgana, he knew, though he would describe his sister's motives as self-defensive, rather than intentionally deceitful with ulterior motives and goals. Usually.

"Certain ones?" he said.

"Strong magic and weak morals," Gaius said – and at Arthur's twitch of protest, amended, " _weakened_ morals, then. Perhaps because they felt rejected by family or friends or society as a whole due to their newly-discovered magic, or conversely desperate to belong somewhere or to be accepted by someone."

Uther had Machiavellian leanings; Morgana would have learned those early, just as Arthur had – but he'd also learned, through high school and college, that he did not want to live his life by those principles.

"So she paid special attention to Morgana, and won her confidence," Arthur said. "For what purpose?"

"In hindsight," Gaius reminded him with a sigh. "We discovered that Morgause used blood oaths to tie the magic of her chosen students to her, to increase her own power."

Arthur's stomach turned in revulsion. But it was not dissimilar to the politics played by businessmen, favors exchanged and influence pressed. "What for, though?"

Gaius exhaled, shaking his head. "Truly, I'm not sure I understand the answer to that. I believe she went to the armory that night as a sort of John-Brown tactic, claiming an enemy's arsenal in anticipation of a larger civil war. We are all very fortunate that she was stopped with relatively little loss of life – and that the commander of the installation agreed with me, for the sake of community peace, the story should be so altered."

Arthur freed his hands to scrub them through his hair, leaning his elbows on his knees. Life is never simple, he reminded himself, and felt a sharp pang of regret that neither he nor his father had provided support for Morgana. Drunk weekends and cheerleader dates and exam cramming, when she'd been struggling with _this_.

"So Morgause was killed at the armory," he said. "And she'd tied Morgana's magic to her – how does that end with sleeping pills? Or was that a cover-story too?"

"No, that part is true. She drank a bottle of water with the drug dissolved in."

"But why?" Arthur burst out, twisting on the cold stone bench to face the headmaster. "Was she forced by the magic? Or out of despair at what happened to Morgause?"

"Who can say."

Arthur pushed to his feet again, unhappy and dissatisfied. Why hadn't he been content with one of his previous explanations? Truth didn't always set one free, he thought bitterly. And further questions could not be answered by teacher or student.

"And Merlin knows," he realized, spinning on his heel to prolong the conversation a moment more. "That's why he feels so strongly about both Emie Morgause and my sister."

"Merlin… has a habit of feeling responsible for events that were never in his power to prevent," Gaius allowed. "It is a characteristic that makes him an excellent security officer… but personally, it has never made him any happier."

…..*….. …..*….. …..*….. …..*….. …..*…..

So, Arthur concluded, Merlin's reasons for reaction were threefold. Guilt for missing warning signs, ten years ago, though it seemed everyone else had as well, and the pain of tragic loss. Shock at least and offense possibly, that Arthur had never revealed or confided – to the point that Merlin questioned the validity of their friendship? maybe. Thirdly, Arthur anticipated Merlin's apprehension that the brother of his deceased friend would blame him in the matter, too.

He well knew the impossibility of catching a moment with Merlin when he didn't want to be caught, so Arthur spent the rest of that day as normally as he could. Lesson plans for the next week, dinner in the cafeteria, communication with his friends in DC – outlining what he'd found out about Morgana, admitting what he'd realized about Gwen, questioning what might remain with Merlin.

At midnight he gave up the semblance of activity in waiting for a moment with his roommate, and went to bed. But not to sleep. And half an hour later, alerted to the soft sounds of Merlin subtly creeping back into his own home space.

For some moments, Arthur held his tongue, figuring that Merlin would be less likely to leave again, if he'd already undressed for bed. Then said into the darkness – "Merlin."

Abrupt silence. Nearly silent obscenity emerging under Merlin's breath. Then cheer so false it was painful – "Yeah?"

It was too dark even to see shadows, but Arthur pushed himself up on one elbow anyway, facing Merlin's bed. "I have something I want to say to you. I'm sorry for –"

"Dammit, Arthur –" pure and inexplicable desperation – "do not apologize to me. Please –"

Arthur interrupted. "Please just listen, I want you to understand it was never my intention to lie to you –"

Merlin made a strangled noise.

And Arthur lost momentum, feeling awkward and uncertain, without visual cues from his friend, that he was effectively making his point. "Look," he said, ignoring the incongruity of the slang. "When I told you I was sorry about that thing with Freya, I don't think you believed me –"

"That wasn't because –"

"Until I _showed_ you I was sorry, but this time I don't know how to do that and I don't want to screw up you and me because we… sleep in the same room, after all, and…" Arthur trailed off, hot-faced at the thought of putting his feelings into words for another guy. _I want our friendship to last. For magic and for ordinary. For your sake… and for mine._

"I don't hold it against you," Merlin said breathlessly. "I just… I can't…"

Arthur heard in memory what the young man had said to the old headmaster. _How can I trust you, after this?_

"Hey, turn on the light so we can see each other," he said. "None of this girly issue-skirting, let's be men and say what we have to say and put this behind us –"

"There's nothing to say it's fine, Arthur, please just –"

Arthur heard one more phrase and didn't understand it – recognized it for the language of spells. Had time to wonder – woozily tipped back onto his pillow and drifted – thinking, _little bastard put a sleeping spell on_ …

…..*….. …..*….. …..*….. …..*….. …..*…..

That whole week Arthur saw hide nor hair of his roommate, and his plan to act offended by the probable magic Merlin had done on him – _on_ him, without his permission, wasn't _that_ unethical of the security officer – fizzled.

More than once he thought he heard Merlin in the room, but by the time his key unlocked the door, it was empty. So he was mistaken – or Merlin had vanished, by teleportation or invisibility spell. And Arthur felt too stupid talking to the air in case Merlin was hiding – and too reluctant to admit he was being actively avoided.

Except. On Thursday morning Arthur skipped coffee and went straight to the teachers' lounge – and found the ketchup-and-mustard plaid blanket folded at one end of the couch.

Too peeved for breakfast, he went to Freya's classroom before his own.

"No, he didn't say what happened," she told him, dark brows drawn together worriedly. "He doesn't do that, talk it around to everyone when someone or something is bothering him. But, Arthur – he doesn't hold a grudge, either. Whatever's going on with him, I'm sure it's not _you_."

Arthur would have felt more ready to roll his eyes and wash his hands of someone who'd clearly decided they'd rather not share his company, if it wasn't for the fact that Merlin could easily have moved his things or Arthur's to a different room, and hadn't. He was avoiding Arthur, but it was at the expense of his own comfort – and it also wasn't, simply carrying on with daily routine and coldly ignoring Arthur.

On Saturday he picked Gwen up outside the café, and again drove southwest on James Madison highway. Two blocks into the drive, and she knew something was wrong.

"Bad week?" she suggested, tucking her feet to one side in the footwell, angling her knees and her body to face him. Wool-lined denim vest to match her jeans over a heather-gray sweatshirt. Warm and wonderful.

"It turns out," he told her, resisting the urge to rub his forehead or his eyes, which he kept on the road. "Merlin knew my sister, Morgana. I think he feels like I lied to him, not telling him the real reason I came to Lone Oak."

"So apologize," Gwen said, so like Leon and so earnestly sweetly herself, Arthur was comforted rather than offended.

"I did," he said. "I'm not sure he believed me. Maybe he thinks I just don't want him putting a poison-ivy spell in my sheets or something."

Gwen turned her head to stare out the front window of the car, but her hand found his, draped over the center console, her fingers tentatively exploring his, and sending warmth spiraling out from his heart, through his chest.

"I think he truly considered you a friend, Arthur," she said slowly. "And I don't think that's something he does lightly, either… But he has…"

"Has what?" Arthur said, when she didn't continue.

"I don't know how to put it exactly," she said. "He's not perfect. I mean, he and Freya are both great friends and wonderful people, but they have… they _must_ have… you get the feeling there's a _past_ there, if you know what I mean. Beyond the facts that they let people know."

Arthur considered she was right. Freya had told him things even Merlin didn't know. And Merlin probably had _things_ , too. Hinted at in his childhood, in the time he was away from Lone Oak, making the journey from student to staff.

"He's worth the patience," Gwen added confidently. "If you don't change, if you don't pull back and shut him out, he'll come around, I'm sure of it."

Freya had said the same thing, he remembered.

"Wish he'd just take a swing at me instead," Arthur growled, half-serious. And Gwen laughed lightly, squeezing his hand.

After that, their ride was spent in Gwen coaxing Arthur to reminisce about his childhood. Admitting to faults and failures, tentatively articulating hopes and aspirations, and when they reached the cemetery, her hand stayed in his as they stood before the gravestone.

"I wonder what she would have been like, if our mother had lived," Arthur said to Gwen, his voice feeling and sounding husky.

She hummed understanding, hugging his arm against the chill breeze, and inadvertently comforting him with her warmth and softness. "Do you think about, what she'd be doing now?"

"I used to." Arthur told her a few of the more amusingly outrageous possibilities he'd imagined. "But now that I know she had magic, I'm not sure…" He hesitated. "I'm not sure she would have been content to keep it subtle. She was impatient, and proactive about change." Morgana might have been a good Dragonlord, he realized with a bit of a shock. Cruel or heroic, protestor or terrorist or rob-from-the-rich-to-give-to-the-poor, he didn't know. "Her life wouldn't have been quiet. She would have met prejudice head-on, which hardly ever _succeeds_ , and then…"

"Fireworks?" Gwen suggested quietly.

Arthur sighed. "At least. And our father probably furious about the whole thing, using money and influence to suppress rumors – which would only provoke her to greater action…"

Gwen said nothing, and the silence flowed out from them, over gentle stone-studded hills to the trees and small farms of the countryside. Peaceful, was what it was. Tragic, but peaceful… and would any one of them have been happier, if Morgana had lived? Even Morgana herself? He wasn't sure he could name the last time he'd seen her _happy_ , she was always so combative with their father, so competitive with him… but victory didn't ensure happiness.

"I hope you're at peace, Morgana," he said aloud, thinking of Gaius' allusions to John Brown and the Harpers Ferry incident preceding the Civil War. "I hope you've found happiness…"

He moved away from his sister's grave, bringing Gwen along with him, her hand in his. It was a little too cold for strolling outside, but he didn't feel like getting back in the car and driving, just yet.

"I suppose," she ventured, "it's up to us to find that, too. For them. And for ourselves."

Arthur breathed, and thought. He was glad, after all, that he'd come to Virginia. The opportunity to get to know new and interesting people, to have a candid firsthand look at magic and the people who used it, was unique and invaluable. And Gwen herself was like… an open window in his life. A breath of fresh air and new hope, when he hadn't realized he'd given it up.

"You make me happy," he told her honestly. "I would really love to do the same for you, no matter what our relationship turns out to be."

She was silent a few more steps. "It scares me to consider loving someone. I feel like, loss and pain are inevitable. Though I know that isn't logical. And no one can guarantee that won't happen, anyway."

"That's true for love or friendship," he observed. Though they balanced in-between, the more he saw of her, the more his heart told which one it wanted. One of these days, he thought, it would tip him over – head over heels – but the prospect was more exhilarating than frightening. A bit.

"I think about… what Lancelot would have been like, if he'd lived." Gwen glanced up at him as if checking to see that the line of her thought spoken aloud was all right with him.

He decided, in light of his conflict with Merlin, he'd rather have her say it to him, then think it when he didn't know. He invited gently, "What do you think?"

She kicked at some fallen leaves along the paved path. "Sometimes I wonder. I mean, looking back. We were so young, how could we have been so sure about each other? Sometimes I tell myself he was perfect and we were meant to be together and now I'll just have to deal with things alone, the rest of my life. Sometimes I think, if I let myself start another relationship with someone else, I'll realize…"

Arthur opened his mouth to finish the sentence – and checked himself immediately, even though he understood what she meant to say. This was not a philosophical discussion, but a tentative, slightly nervous baring of the most vulnerable part of her heart and soul. So he waited, squeezing her hand.

"That he wasn't perfect." She stopped, studying the toes of her tennis shoes. "That maybe we wouldn't have stayed together. Or we wouldn't be happy, if we had. That makes me feel horrible even to say. Sick to my stomach even to consider… relief? I miss him, Arthur. I miss things being simple and easy… but it was only perception, and now it's gone."

He dared to gather her close with his free arm, offering comfort and advice, "Nowhere to go but forward."

She hummed, allowed the embrace, then stepped away. But kept his hand.

And it occurred to him, that now he knew the reason for her odd mood and behavior, before Halloween. And how much, patient perseverance had paid off.

Why couldn't he try the same, in his relationship with his roommate?

 **A/N: Thanks very much to everyone who's shown support for this story with reviews and favorites and follows! I'm finally moved into my new place – so maybe updates can be quicker in coming!?**


	13. Once Upon a November

**A/N: Any NFL fans? Because there are a few pro-football jokes in this one…**

 **Chapter 13: Once Upon a November**

The next week passed in fits and spurts. Arthur calmly continued doing his job, sitting in on classes from some of the other teachers – though he preferred Freya's – and divided non-class hours between grading and planning and Gwen.

Another thing occurred to him that week, that supported him in his plan to patience with Merlin. Wednesday evening he was on the phone with Leon, who was bemoaning the fact that the housekeeping staff of the Marriott was demanding a holiday raise early – such things were usually organized between Thanksgiving and Christmas. Arthur paced the small living area, listening with one ear and absently doing the budget figures and calculating non-monetary consequences of acquiescing or negotiating or denying.

And came to a slow stop, looking around.

Two and a half… nearly three months he'd been living here. And he'd never done a lick of housework, himself, too used to that being done by hotel staff when he wasn't around, coordinated by Leon – or one of Leon's clerks, maybe. But there was no dust on the windowsill – on the cabinet that supported the television – on Arthur's desk, even the back corners.

"Yeah, Leon, handle it however you decide," he said into his phone, and ended the call to the sound of his friend's longsuffering sigh.

No lint on the short tough carpet, anywhere in sight. He went in the bathroom, and everything – toilet, sink, shower - was as clean and sanitary as when he'd arrived.

He went in the bedroom and the carpet was clean there, too, even under the beds.

So Merlin did housekeeping, by hand or by magic, in spite of his early claim that he wasn't Arthur's servant. Evidently when Arthur wasn't around, but without one word of sharing chores – and he'd kept doing it even after the revelation of Arthur's incomplete honesty.

He went to the teachers' lounge, and – in spite of Katrina's ridicule – left a note pinned on the couch. _You may as well sleep in your own bed. I promise we don't have to talk about anything, you big girl_.

Thursday morning the yellow-and-red plaid was back on Merlin's bed. And he began to see Merlin again, even if it wasn't close enough or long enough for more than a brief shallow exchange. Arthur didn't get the feeling of offended indifference, but genuine emotional struggle – even if he didn't understand it, and at times rolled his eyes in wondering if Merlin was going to ghost around his personal perimeter for the rest of the year. It was impossible to deny that the young security officer looked wretched, beneath the cheerful smile he wore for the students.

Freya smiled encouragingly and worried. Alice huffed as if no one would take her professional advice, and Gaius looked concerned. So Arthur knew it was more than just, Merlin in a snit he refused to get over.

But by damn, he was taking his time.

It helped Arthur's patience to have Gwen on the weekend to look forward to. Midmorning Sunday, the sound of the cowbell on the inside glass of the café's Dutch door sounded a lot like home, to Arthur, and he didn't consider it necessary to examine the feeling very closely. Gwen smiled at him over the shoulder of her customer – a heavy older man in tweed coat and hat, accepting a tall hot drink and turning to the side booth Arthur privately considered his; no matter, he was headed for the girl behind the counter.

"What's this special mystery soup I have to taste before you can serve it to the customers?" he said teasingly in reference to the text that had brought him to town, leaning one hip against the counter.

Gwen glanced at the wall clock. "White chili," she said.

"Oh." Arthur was slightly surprised. From the insistent tone her message and their subsequent conversation held, he'd expected something… exotic. "Is it… ready?" Another hour or so til people would start to order lunch, but then usually she was back in the kitchen, still fussing with the soup-pot.

"It's… simmering." Her eyes flicked past him briefly, as if her attention was elsewhere. As if she was waiting for…

"Everything all right?" he asked.

"I hope so." She gave him a nervous, self-conscious smile. "So, okay… I confess. There was no special soup, I just… really wanted you to come. Today. Now."

He felt his eyebrows lift. She'd seemed content to let their relationship drift naturally toward more-serious; something deliberate like this was… unexpected. "Really?"

She rolled her dark eyes expressively. Endearingly. "We girls are meddling," she said.

Arthur responded with an intelligent, "Huh?"

In lieu of explanation, Gwen exclaimed, "Oh, there they are!"

Glancing past him – then whirling to come out from behind the counter. Arthur turned to follow her distraction – to see Freya and Merlin on the sidewalk outside the café.

"They're a little late," Gwen continued, joining him. "She said she could –"

They were arguing. Arthur held very still, without knowing exactly why, but it seemed _wrong_. Freya had a hold of Merlin's hand and leaned like she was trying to physically pull him toward the café door. And Merlin wasn't budging, brows down in stubborn unhappiness, though not outright anger. He gestured in demonstrative passion with his free hand, and turned his head to look through the window. Straight at Arthur.

Not just a sweeping glance to acquaint himself with the space and its inhabitants, and no surprise to see Arthur. Merlin flinched away from meeting his eyes – ashamed at being caught in the situation, maybe – and extricated himself emphatically from Freya's grip.

"Oh, dear," Gwen said, slipping her fingers around Arthur's forearm, as if by holding on to him, she could keep Merlin in place as well.

Outside, Freya released Merlin. Hurt, by her expression, still pleading. Merlin turned his back to the window to respond to her, but once finished, he pivoted to stalk down the sidewalk in the opposite direction. Clearly rejecting the outing with Freya, whatever café refreshment had been given for excuse, if it included a surprise sit-down with Arthur.

Of course Freya's motives could not be anything but pure and compassionate. But if Merlin felt ambushed – again? – that was partly Arthur's fault. He watched Freya watch Merlin disappear past the end of the building, and the look on her face broke his heart – because he'd encouraged her in this pursuit – and made him mad.

"S'cuse me," he said to Gwen – who let him go. And to Freya, who looked up at him as he pushed through the door, "Good morning. Here's hoping it gets better."

He didn't wait for her reply, locating Merlin nearly half a block away already, and quickening his steps. By damn, this was bordering on ridiculous.

"Merlin!" he hollered irately.

His roommate halted almost involuntarily, twitched a decision to the contrary, and started forward again without looking around. But Arthur had gained on him in that second, and there were other people out and about in spite of the weather, to observe Arthur chasing and shouting after Merlin. Propriety and decent upbringing brought Merlin to a stop and kept him in place, the second time Arthur called after him.

"All right, enough," he said, finding himself slightly out of breath as he placed himself in front of his truant roommate. "Look me in the eye and tell me, what the hell is wrong with you."

Merlin didn't look him in the eye. Tucked his hands under his arms and hunched his shoulders in a faded green-brown-black camo-uniform jacket, staring at the sidewalk.

"Why do you care?" he said. Softly, not belligerently.

"Maybe I don't!" Arthur shot back, irritated.

And they stood there, awkward. Merlin tipped his head enough to see Arthur from under his brows and a fall of shaggy black hair. And Arthur didn't spin on his heel and storm off down the sidewalk.

"You want me to say I'm sorry again?" Arthur said – defensively and not at all apologetically. "Because I am."

"No. It's not…" Merlin closed his eyes, exhaling and shifting away slightly, as if Arthur's proximity caused him physical pain. "It's not your fault that I screwed up _royally_."

" _You_ screwed up?" Arthur said, confused and annoyed.

"No. Yes. I mean, that I _am_ screwed up. There's things I… never told you, either –"

Arthur relented a bit, remembering Merlin wasn't like him, and had _things_ , and a _past_. "You didn't have to –"

"Just – just listen, please, I want to – try to explain."

Merlin opened his eyes and met Arthur's – still hunched protectively over his crossed arms, but there was a pure agony of desperate guilt in that deep blue. His look connected them – _I'm baring the never-healed wounds of my soul to you_ – in a way Arthur had rarely connected with another human being. Count 'em on the fingers of one hand.

"When I came to Lone Oak," Merlin said. "There was a boy, and he was moody sometimes and grouchy sometimes but he kept – sitting by me at lunch, and coming by my room and asking me to do stuff and… we were friends. I thought. He introduced me to a teacher who had a secret club of unique magic-users and she… made me feel special. Part of something worthwhile."

Arthur glimpsed an uncomfortable truth. Another facet to Merlin's guilt over Morgana's death – that he'd fallen for Morgause's charisma as well. And that was probably how he'd come to know Arthur's sister, too. He didn't say the name because Merlin knew, he knew, and Merlin didn't want to hear _Morgause_.

"After…" Merlin flung out an angry, careless hand, " _all_ that. He wanted nothing to do with me. Said he despised me. And only – made friends because… she told him to."

And why was Merlin telling him this? Arthur said defensively, "You can't think I'm anything like him, the situation is completely opposite –"

"I know." Merlin's hand signaled an emphatic command to _stop_. "I know, but I… don't quite trust my own judgment. Sometimes. And if I'm wrong about you, it won't be just me that suffers. It'll be Gaius, too, and Alice, and all the school. Freya, and the kids, so I _can't_ – I _shouldn't_ – tell you…"

"Okay," Arthur blurted, uncomfortable. Feeling stupid and overbearing, like he'd forced Merlin to show him these painful and humiliating bits of his history. "So don't tell me. I don't need to know every little thing you've ever experienced – just like you don't need to know that about me – and honestly, I'd rather you didn't tell me anything that I might have to report you for."

Merlin's eyes dropped; he chewed his lip and gave a single self-deprecating snort.

"All right?" Arthur added. "I'm not making you tell me shit and you're not avoiding me anymore. Deal?" He stuck out his right hand.

Merlin stared at it. "You wouldn't," he said hoarsely. "If you knew, you wouldn't."

Arthur huffed impatiently. "Look, either shake my hand or hit me in the jaw and move out and we can be proper enemies. Because this halfway stuff is exhausting. C'mon. Make a choice."

A smile threatened Merlin's mouth. "Damn, you're pushy."

"I'm a businessman," Arthur reminded him. "That's a compliment." Merlin hesitantly extended his own, and Arthur gripped it firmly, using it to pull him along, back toward the café. "Now. Let's forget about this for the afternoon, and focus on chili and women."

A low chuckle, but a genuine one. And the look on Freya's face – and the one on Gwen's – made Arthur's efforts at patching up his friendship doubly worthwhile.

However, as the days and then weeks passed, he had to recall the smiles of those two girls, certain times when his frustration with Merlin threatened to get the better of him.

By mutual consent, he and his roommate steered clear of topics of the past. And there were times when everything seemed _fine_. The football game half the staff watched in the teachers' lounge, and Arthur learned which teams were represented by fans at the school. Cory Sigan lived and breathed for Baltimore, while Katrina resented the rest as Raider-Haters. Seated on the couch with Alice between them, Arthur asked after Freya's favorite. She demurred, and Merlin leaning over the back of the couch said to Arthur with a quiet impish twinkle, "Carolina."

A joke which – Panthers, you see – only Arthur got, or at least only Arthur heard. Aside from Freya herself, who turned to punch Merlin awkwardly on the arm as he laughed softly.

But then there were times that he'd feel Merlin watching him – and occasionally catch uncomfortable tension from the corner of his eye when he turned. As though Merlin was looking for signs of his relation to Morgana. He wondered if Merlin saw any; he wondered if that made it harder for him to be around Arthur.

Sometimes Merlin acted like he wanted to say something – but couldn't quite bring himself to do it. Arthur did his best to ignore those moments, but as the month wore on, Merlin seemed more conflicted, rather than less. It grated on Arthur's nerves – _just spit it out, already_ – but other times, he could tell that Merlin was really trying to make their friendship work, in addition to living arrangements and the magic-and-ordinary situation for Gaius.

He just wished Merlin didn't have to _try_.

…..*….. …..*….. …..*….. …..*….. …..*…..

Arthur and Gwen had exchanged numbers, Halloween weekend, and she texted him when he wasn't in class, trading light and sometimes borderline-flirty bits of information about their days, and then had longer deeper conversations in the evenings – or weekends when he went down into Culpeper.

"Short week," he sighed to her in relief, leaning on the register counter as she came around the side to hook one elbow around his neck. He squeezed her back lightly, casually one-armed. Since Halloween night, he hadn't been in her apartment again, nor had he tried to move them toward territory of greater physical familiarity. Nor had she encouraged more than this sort of really-good-friends embrace, upon greeting or goodbye. But he was content. For now.

"Work slows down for you," she said. "And speeds up for me."

She wore a black cardigan with wooden toggles, wide sleeves that nearly obscured her hands, as she unrolled them. Catching the older waitress' eye, she signaled her intent to take her lunch break, early at quarter to eleven, before the rush of customers; the side-slit hems of the sweater showed the purple-jewel-studded belt low on her hips as she untied her apron and stuffed it below the counter.

"Thanksgiving," he said. "You're open Thursday?"

"We're open," she sighed, linking her arm with his to walk them outside. "What about you? You're staying here, or going back to the city?"

He lifted his head to gauge the traffic of Main Street before they crossed, and headed down a perpendicular lane. Uther had done perfunctory turkey-and-fixings meals when they were kids, but after Morgana… was gone, it hadn't been such an absolute obligation. This was the first year, though, that Arthur was truly alone. Leon had extended an invitation to join his family, and Gwaine had made a let's-get-drunk barhopping offer. Percival had felt it necessary to apologize for his own plans to fly to the Midwest to spend the long weekend with aging grandparents.

"I guess I'll stay," he said. "Do I have a reason?"

She gave him a smile that was _special_ , and which spoke volumes. "Turkey soup upstairs, after-hours?" she suggested. "Elyan might be there – or he might not. Or… I could ask Merlin and Freya to join us?"

"You could," he said. "I wonder if the school does a staff day. Or maybe they hang out with Gaius and Alice at the cottage."

"If they do, you better invite me," she declared, dark eyes dancing with fun.

"I can't," he said, mock-serious. "They have rules about strangers on campus. Immediate family of current or prospective students and staff members only."

"Put me on the role as a substitute," Gwen suggested. "Tell Gaius I'll bring acorn-squash soup." Arthur tipped his head back to shout laughter, and her giggle warmed him. Just before her hand at his elbow tugged him to a stop and she said, "Freya. Hey, Freya!"

He followed the focus of her attention and saw the younger teacher on the sidewalk across the street – outside the drug store, with a plastic bag in her hand. Freya waved, and Gwen beckoned, and she glanced up and down to cross the side-street to them safely.

"Hey, you two," Freya said, hopping up the curb to join them. "Brave of you to walk when it's this cold."

"And you," Gwen said. "You didn't call me to go shopping? I would have picked you up."

"I knew you'd be with Arthur." Freya's delicately pretty face dimpled at him approvingly before turning to her friend. "Anyway, I only wanted to get a few things."

"Birth control?" Gwen said slyly. Arthur nearly choked on his next breath of air.

Freya bumped her with her shoulder, blushing crimson and holding the bag wide open. "No! Good grief, Gwen, we haven't even _kissed_ yet. Toothpaste and a new toothbrush."

"In preparation for that kiss? And a new bra, I see."

Now it was Arthur blushing crimson. He rocked back on his heels, squinting down the street toward the park at the western edge of town and wondering if whistling would be too obvious a tactic to distance himself from the girls' conversation. Across the street, he noticed Kara with her multiple spiky blue-tinted knots of hair, on the arm of Mordred cowled in a black hoodie over a ballcap.

Freya said defensively, "Well, I needed it. My old one was too stretched out – it would have done more good to tie the thing around back than to use the clasps…"

Gwen chuckled knowingly, and shook Arthur's arm. "All right, we're done, you can listen again."

The plastic of the bag crinkled as Freya tied the handles together, in a pretend huff that she wasn't believed – but she was pink with the teasing and not quite hiding a smile, when Arthur turned back to them.

"Of all the things I've wished I never heard," he said lightly. "Where's Merlin anyway? Shouldn't you be burning his ears with talk of underwear?"

"He was busy," Freya said mournfully, not denying the insinuation. "His rounds, and then he said the files were too deep to wade through without boots. Said he could get more done without you there."

Arthur grimaced, and Gwen caught it. "It's better though, isn't it?" she said quietly; they both understood, and commiserated.

"Yeah, it's just… it might never be what it was. And what it was, was just so –"

"Fun," Gwen suggested.

Freya said intuitively, "Easy."

"Yeah." Because they were Merlin's friends, too; they _knew_.

"Has he said anything to you?" Gwen asked Freya, taking her arm to pull her along with them, walking down the sidewalk toward the park at the other end of the street, even though it was the direction opposite to her return to the school.

"Just that it's not Arthur's fault, he didn't know," Freya said, and leaned around Gwen between them to add, "I'm sorry, Arthur. He's never done anything like this before, I don't know what to do or say, to help."

"What about after…" Gwen trailed off significantly, as they passed the last building on the side street, and the primary colors of the playground came into view, bright against the brown-gray backdrop of the leafless trees beyond. Mordred and Kara were just reaching the area; they stopped at the swings instead of continuing to the bowl and ramps of the skate-park, where the other teens gathered.

"After graduation?" Freya finished the question. Gwen glanced at Arthur as if to gauge, how much he might know about the young man they discussed – the girls' friend long before he began to be Arthur's.

"He told me he went looking for answers about his dad," Arthur offered. "That one Army buddy. And the Dragonlords." Although, Merlin hadn't finished whatever he had been going to say when Arthur asked him about joining the gang.

"He told me all that stuff. Eventually. Had to get him drunk first." She gave Arthur a twinkly-eyed smile so he would understand the comment for a joke – except there was still worry in her eyes.

"Well, I haven't tried that," he responded lightly. "You'll have to tell me how you managed."

Freya hummed reluctance. "Might not work the same for you. Not unless you're ready to bawl your eyes out on his shoulder in return, so he doesn't feel self-conscious about what he did and said after the fourth beer."

Arthur snorted and started to form some comment about Merlin being a lightweight – but his focus was distracted by a handful of people across the woodchip-padded playground, beyond the painted-metal climbing towers and plastic slides. The little group was gathering the attention of others in the park – mostly because of the very large woman with curly blonde hair, dressed in a soft gray tracksuit, who seemed very nearly hysterical. Gwen and Freya stopped a moment after Arthur, to listen.

"You've got to call the state police!" she insisted, shrill in her panic. "Alex is _gone!_ They have to do an Amber Alert!"

Arthur found his feet bringing him closer, the two girls trailing. He passed Mordred and Kara, seated on swings but watching the commotion; Mordred glanced at him as they passed.

Others seemed trying to dissuade the woman, but she wasn't having it.

"No, he's been kidnapped, I know it! He was here a minute ago, I swear I only looked at my book for a teeny second – someone must have taken him! They're probably getting further away every second you people delay – there was a white SUV here earlier and now it's gone, someone has to tell the police, there was an X and a T and a five in the license plate, I think…"

"Oh my goodness," Gwen said, at Arthur's side.

"He probably just wandered off," someone suggested. "Let's look around the area before we _panic_ –"

"He was playing in the grass with that other woman's kid," another volunteered. "Said something about a rabbit when they were leaving –"

"My Alex!" the woman shrieked, not calmed or comforted by the crowd. "Alex! Someone bring him back!"

"I wonder if I should…" Freya began uncomfortably.

Arthur's sleeve was plucked.

Mordred stood there, two inches shorter than Arthur in his hood-covered ballcap, eyes glittering expressionless in the depths. Kara just behind him stood sideways, arms crossed sulkily, staring the opposite direction, grumbling, "… _Ordinary_ kid…"

"I can find the child," Mordred told Arthur. "He is not in someone's car. But…there." He pointed toward the trees behind the park.

Arthur lifted his head to scan the area, mentally calling up the map of Culpeper. The town had been built up around both its Main Street and the pikes that crossed it from west to east, and so wasn't laid out in a roughly-circular shape. That meant, though still close to the Main Street, this park was on the edge of town and country; sparse Virginia farmland and wilderness lay beyond.

"Are you sure?" he said to Mordred.

Who lowered his head slightly, before his eyes gleamed golden with magic, several sustained seconds, and his head jerked more than once – left, left, up, right – "Yes," he said. "I can find him."

"Try to get the mother's attention," Arthur said to Gwen and Freya, taking Mordred's elbow. "Let's go."

Wordlessly across the lawn, through the underbrush, over the ground carpeted by fallen oak leaves. Rustling as they strode, Mordred keeping up with Arthur's pace, Arthur following the senior's lead. And hoping for all their sakes, this wasn't the teenager's idea of another prank. He could hear more people following them, more loudly – he ducked a branch, and thrust the tough twiggy stems of an undressed bush out of his way – and the mother's voice rose loudest.

"My Alex knows better than to wander off, we should be –"

Did he imagine Gwen's soothing voice, a low murmur among the rest and the noise of the passage?

"Yes, but what if he's wrong and we're wasting precious time?" the mother objected.

"…One of the teachers from the magic school?" a male voice offered.

Arthur glanced at Mordred. Caught the teenager glancing back at him. And a glimpse of Kara stalking determinedly up behind her boyfriend to join them.

Over a hundred yards, maybe a hundred and twenty. He didn't glance back, but he was reasonably sure they were out of sight of the playground; the light under the trees and cloud-obscured sky was the dim gray of twilight even at midday. The route they took was not a straight line, but veered here and there as though literally following invisible childish tracks; Mordred gave no indication that they were getting close to the missing boy, so Arthur didn't call out.

They were still in the lead by several moments when Mordred came to an abrupt halt, throwing out his hand to stop Arthur.

The little rise of ground didn't roll gently down to another stretch of forest, but dropped unexpected into a ravine disguised by brush and made treacherous by loose damp earth crumbling along the edge. Arthur might have been able to jump it with a running start. And a damn good reason to jump, rather than keep his feet on solid ground.

"Don't come closer." He turned immediately, holding out his own hands to warn the others.

The plump sweatsuit-clad mother, face blotchy from crying – Gwen at her side and then Freya – a father-aged man and a heavier grandfather-aged man, accompanied by an eager middle-schooler. Three generations of related males, Arthur thought with the one careless glance, friends of or strangers to the mother, maybe it didn't matter. They stopped – mother uncomprehending, the two men concerned.

Arthur turned back to Mordred, leaning over the drop with an anchoring hand on a yearling tree-trunk. He met Arthur's eyes and confirmed, "Down there."

Placing his feet carefully, eighteen inches from the rounded edge, Arthur grasped the tree also, and angled himself to be able to see, and judge the situation.

The bottom was farther than he expected, the ravine deep at this point; a glint of water and the trickle of wet rock menaced at the end of the fall. Dull-bright spot of red maybe ten feet down, unmoving - still thirty feet up from the bottom, maybe? Three stories. An Olympic platform dive.

"Alex?" Arthur called.

No answer. Behind him the mother moaned and one of the two men muttered comfort or encouragement. Arthur glanced to either side, downward, but if the wrinkle in the landscape worn by the stream shallowed, it wasn't within sight, and would take uncountable – maybe vital – minutes to travel. On the off-chance that there was such a path.

"Can your magic help?" Arthur asked Mordred, his glance taking in Kara just beyond.

Their answers were wordless, subdued, and definitely negative.

Freya stepped beyond Kara, to look down – and both hands rose to cover her mouth, moments before she lifted her eyes to Arthur, responding before he had a chance to ask. "I can't fit in there, flying."

Arthur began shrugging out of his jacket, moving a short way along the ravine. He instructed Gwen calmly over his shoulder, "Call for help. But we can't wait for search and rescue."

"What are you going to do?" the father-aged man said, supporting the plump woman – hope and fear keeping her silent, at the moment.

"I'm going to go down there," Arthur said. "I've done a bit of rock-wall climbing."

At his fitness club. With safety harnesses.

Mordred said, "I try to call Merlin."

"Yes, do that." Arthur tied his jacket loosely around his waist, and eased himself to the edge, legs dangling.

The opposite face of the ravine was irregular, dark earth interrupted by roots and rocks, and he could not tell how secure either might prove, how much weight could be borne. He could see the child more clearly, though; the boy appeared to be caught on a very narrow outcrop – one that didn't even support his entire body. Whether he was asleep or unconscious or… it wasn't clear.

Arthur gripped a sapling by its foot, and lowered his weight over four stories of very thin air.

Within moments he was trembling uncontrollably with cold sweat and cold air and exertion. His clothing was soaked through in several places from the damp earth, and his fingernails were lifting from the nailbed with earth driven under them. Twice his footing gave way and he had to scrabble fast before the root he grasped did the same. The people above – he didn't look – called encouragement and advice until someone shushed them.

He appreciated that.

Slowly – it seemed to him – he worked his way across to the boy. Slightly under. And freed one hand, positioning it with the reasonable expectation of holding the boy's weight in place if he startled dangerously.

And said softly, "Alex?"

The boy opened his eyes. Dull, vague interest. No other movement.

Someone – Gwen, he thought – called down, "Arthur?"

He focused on the child. "Hey, Alex. My name is Arthur. Are you all right?"

"I folla'ed a bunny," the child informed him. "I 'us quiet, di'n't scawe 'im. An' I fell."

"I know," Arthur said, using amused sympathy for his tone. His left foot was sinking by infinitesimal increments, but sooner or later… "Did you hurt yourself? Did you bump your head?"

"No. Maybe. I 'us tired. An' I want hot choc'late."

"I think we can arrange that." Arthur maneuvered himself to free his right hand, and untied his jacket.

It would be best to secure the child to his back, to leave his movements unimpeded in his climb, but he could think of no way to accomplish that without risking both of them. The level ground was ten feet or so above them; he thought he could make it if the boy kept still.

"My friend works in the café in town. She makes the best hot chocolate," he told the boy. "Can you sit up? Very careful, so we don't fall again? Good."

"What's going on?" a male voice called down. "Have you got him? His mother's going to –"

 _Shut up_ , Arthur thought grimly, as the boy twisted and tried to look up.

"Alex," he said, to reclaim the boy's attention, "right here. Take my jacket, and put the arms of it under your arms, around your back. Yep, just like that – careful…" Now his right foot was beginning to slip. "Now, can you tie the sleeves around my neck?"

"In'a knot?" the boy said.

"A tight knot," Arthur told him, feeling the boy fumble around the back of his neck. Pulling skin and hairs, the boy's unsteady breathing and thrumming heartbeat pressed against Arthur's cheek.

" 'Kay."

"Okay," Arthur repeated. "Now when I climb, you're going to sag a bit. But make sure those sleeves stay under your arms, all right? Don't worry if you drag, I've got you. Hang on _so_ tight. With your legs too if you want."

" 'Kay."

Oh, for the love of… magic. Hard enough to climb such, in dry daylight. Without an extra thirty pounds pulling so awkwardly at his neck and limiting his reach. He tested the boy's ledge and more than half of it shifted. Never mind that, then.

"He's coming," someone said faintly, from above. "They're coming. He's got him."

"Alex!" the mother squawked – Arthur didn't blame her, truly – her panic igniting the same in her son.

The boy twisted and wriggled, elbowing Arthur's jaw. "Mama?"

The rocky cleft providing handhold on Arthur's left loosened in a minor eruption of earth and flakes of stone – right into his face. And frantic fingers found no hold, as stinging eyes squinted shut and he tried not to breathe in.

"Arthur?" someone called.

His right hand clung around a root that seemed firm. He tried to wipe his face – his eyes – on his shoulder, and made it worse. Every instinct warned, if he tried to pull his free hand down by his face, his muscles would fail, the cliff-side would collapse, and they'd fall.

But both his feet were slipping, at different rates – and Alex was not being still – and Arthur had dirt in his eyes.

"Mama! Climb faster! I want my mama!"

"Alex! Hold on, baby – oh let go of me I want to see him –"

Arthur's left foot pushed free of its support and he transferred his weight instinctively – and his right foot began slipping faster. He tried to wedge his toes into the bank and the mud compacted and gave him no purchase and his free hand only dug out handfuls of loose detritus, and Alex was strangling him in a precursor to a helpless tantrum that was going to get them both killed.

Another voice cut through the chaos, straight to Arthur's soul.

"Hey, Arthur."

The one moment of calm relief tilted away from him with Freya's clear cry of alarm. "No! Merlin, you can't! You've just 'ported all the way here, you shouldn't –"

Mumble, mumble. And Merlin spoke again.

"Arthur. When you feel me grab you, let go. Can you do that?"

"No," he said shortly; it was all he could manage. No upward movement was possible; downward movement was inevitable. His hand tightened around the root and his eyes watered mud unseeing down his face and the muscles in his shoulder were going to start unraveling.

"You're going to have to trust me." Serene, and confident. "You will both be _fine_ , if you trust me. But if you don't let go, we're all going to get hurt. So, Arthur. When you feel me grab you, let go. All right?"

Arthur was terrified, now. He couldn't… he couldn't… his foot was going to give way and then something in his arm. And his body would cushion Alex's fall but there were rocks, and he wasn't soft and how long would it take rescue workers to reach them and bring them back up? If they weren't already dead…

"You can do this. Just let go. Are you ready?"

He swore mentally, using every foul word he knew as every part of speech he could remember – and nodded.

In the darkness, pain igniting down his arm and shoulder and back, climbing his calf and thigh – a precious little life warm and sobbing and _not helping_ against his chest, pushing him away from his hold –

A spicy puff of air, and Merlin's hands light on Arthur's back – not supporting, not pulling, not lifting – Arthur let go.

And they fell.

 **A/N: Sorry-not-sorry for the cliffie – literally this time!**


	14. Still Falling

**Chapter 14: Still Falling**

 _Arthur let go – and they fell._

His stomach swooped with nausea and the certain expectation of a very hard landing – death – failure –

It didn't happen as imminently as he thought but –

Shocking slam into the ground, jarring breath loose and Alex was squirming and crying in earnest. And beneath him, not the unforgiving rock of the ravine – Merlin squirming and gasping also.

"Oh get off you – weigh - a – ton!"

Voices yammered, the loudest of which was the distraught mother. Hands claimed Alex away from Arthur, yanking on the knots of his jacket arms behind his neck, freeing the whole arrangement. He rolled to the side – not entirely off Merlin – and scooped mud away from his eyes with the cuff of his sleeve.

"You all right?" Merlin gulped, so faintly only Arthur would be able to hear.

"Yeah." He was unbearably sore, shaking from reaction, and still weeping helpless cleansing droplets. "You?"

Merlin groaned and rolled away from him.

Arthur blinked, teared up again, and found a clean inch of sleeve to wipe with. The level land stretched full beneath his body felt cold and damp and good, and for a moment he lay content, twisting his upper body around to see the plump mother, tears streaming past her smile, envelop a stunned Mordred in her generous embrace. Kara beside him looked proud – no trace of a sneer.

To the other side, Merlin was clambering to his feet with one arm wrapped around his ribs, and then Arthur felt vaguely ashamed to be still sprawled on the ground. Merlin had taken his weight and Alex's, after all, and Arthur had the idea that teleportation was supposed to land folks on their _feet_ ; he hoped nothing had gone too wrong with the magic. His shoulder ached, and he cradled his right arm to his body, trying to find balance again. He felt too tall; the ground tipped slightly under his feet.

The mother turned to him, Alex clutched smugly – pale and muddy and tearstained – in one arm, but Gwen reached him first.

Arthur looked down at her, suddenly in his arms and careless of his muddied state, and bent to inhale deeply of her black curls. He could stand here forever, he decided, smelling her hair, and he didn't care if that made him Edwin-Muirden-creepy.

Alex's mother swamped them both, bawling, "Thank you! Thank you! I'll never be able to thank you enough! You saved my precious boy!"

Over her shoulder he saw Freya – shopping bag abandoned somewhere - fly into Merlin's arms, knocking him a step back. Merlin looked down at her, astonished, before gently placing his hands on her back and leaning his cheek down to rest on her head.

"You're welcome," Arthur managed, before Alex's mother was off again to squeeze Merlin against Freya, leaving him to the welcome-but-painful shoulder-slaps of the two men.

And to the bliss of Gwen's soft embrace. And the realization that she was shuddering and tense, gripping his ribs tightly and pressing her face into his chest.

He began, with the intent to reassure, "Hey –"

She rose several inches in his arms, lifting her hands abruptly to cup his face, her fingertips brushing at the drying mud on his skin briefly before wrapping around the back of his neck.

"I thought –" she broke off, lurching to her tiptoes to press a kiss to his unsuspecting lips. "I thought I _lost_ you," she murmured brokenly, nuzzling her cheek against his in spite of the fact that underneath the dirt, he hadn't shaved for the weekend.

He shivered in reaction and wound his arms closer, tighter around her. "Never if I can help it," he mumbled in her ear.

And if the first kiss was a surprise, the second was very nearly shock. Gwen pulled back, searching his eyes intently – then dropped her gaze very deliberately to his mouth. And he willingly closed his eyes to enter a very different sort of darkness, as she kissed him.

He'd kissed girls before. He'd _been_ kissed _by_ girls before. But never with such _heart_ , such pure and generous and honest emotion. She melted into him, and he wasn't afraid to let himself do the same.

Soft and giving movement. Lingering warmth – sweetness – he realized he was asking for more, more… and she was answering, giving.

He pulled back, touching his forehead to hers, trying to slow his breathing and heartrate, calm his body's response to her – and her panting breaths puffed into the space between them also, mingling with his.

"I forgot to ask you if you're all right," she admitted, with a throaty chuckle whose self-consciousness delighted him.

"I think I'm still falling," he said to her, "but I'm fine."

She gave another low, soft laugh, and pulled back. Arthur looked up to see Merlin watching them over Freya's head still tucked under his chin, with a very odd look on his face. Something yearning, though not envious.

The strangers had begun to move off as a group, escorting the traumatized mother and son back toward the park. He heard sirens in the distance; the boy would be checked over thoroughly, he was sure, and probably there would be questions for them to answer also. Though presumably the EMT's for this area would be used to the possibility of magic affecting their job or its results, for better or worse. Mordred and Kara waited, a few yards away, hand in hand and watching them, though fairly discreetly for two teenagers who appeared to have little shame otherwise.

Freya finally released Merlin – or most of him, since she kept his hand in approaching Arthur. Face tearstained, and eyes still dark, though the danger was past.

"Forgive me," she said to Arthur without preamble. "You're all right? I'm glad you're not hurt and _I'm sorry_."

"It was risky, what he did?" Arthur guessed; Merlin reddened and dropped his eyes. "And you didn't want him to do it."

"Teleportation is _not_ supposed to work like that," Freya said intensely, pulling Merlin's left hand through her elbow and gripping if tightly with both of hers. "Not to a position in midair. Or from, either."

"You could've just –" Arthur searched a moment for the term, addressing his roommate – "levitated us?"

Merlin shook his head. "Levitation doesn't work like that," he corrected softly. "Not on people, or animals. That would have been more dangerous."

"Not to you," Freya said, nudging him.

Arthur twisted Gwen to the side, thrusting out his hand to the younger man he still – and hoped he would always – considered a friend. "You risked your life to save mine. That means a helluva lot. I won't forget it."

Merlin took his hand, this time with conspicuously less hesitation. "You trusted me to save your life," he said quietly. "That means more."

…..*….. …..*….. …..*….. …..*….. …..*…..

After a long relaxing Thanksgiving weekend – spent apart, Merlin and Freya with Gaius and Alice, and Arthur with Gwen and Elyan – things were almost back to normal at Lone Oak.

Normal, but never ordinary.

"By the way," Arthur said, late Sunday night when Merlin returned from his evening rounds; Arthur was prolonging the holiday, staying up reading a Lee Child book stretched out on his bed. "Four weeks til the end of the semester."

Merlin hummed acknowledgement, switching off the light in the bedroom before – Arthur had grown accustomed to the sounds – changing for bed.

"And the holiday," Arthur added, dropping his book on the floor and situating his position to sleep comfortably.

"The teachers do a Yankee swap, if that's what you're asking," Merlin said in the darkness. "Bring a general sort of wrapped gift if you want in, and another potluck. Last Saturday before Christmas. After the grades are posted. To celebrate."

"Huh," Arthur said, wondering what sort of gift to bring. Never mind; he'd ask Gwen for ideas. "But, no, that's not what I was… I mean. Invitation's still open, if you still feel like coming to DC."

Silence. Long enough for Arthur to wonder if he should say Merlin's name again, or leave his warm bed to fumble for the light switch on the wall to check him visually.

Then, "You – still want me to come stay at your hotel?"

"Yes," Arthur said. And refrained from qualifying it, _as long as you don't_ … either seriously or facetiously.

Another long pause. Until Merlin said, with a curious note of defiance in his voice, "All right, then, I will. End of the semester, after all. Plenty of time for Gaius to… make plans."

"Gaius isn't invited," Arthur said, half-laughing. "Can you see him drinking beer and playing poker?"

"Are you serious?" Merlin said, and Arthur could hear the grin, back again from wherever the repetition of his invitation had chased it. "Gaius would win your hotel from you and drink us both under the table. No, I meant… that he could plan for… me, not to… be here. A couple days, anyway?"

"Whatever you're comfortable with," Arthur said, remembering that some students did stay at the school over the various breaks. "And if you need a ride –"

"Yeah, maybe," Merlin said. "I think it would be better if I come at the beginning of the break, rather than wait, if it's all the same to you?"

"Then you can just drive back with me," Arthur said, pleased. "Good." And tired, it was late and he was going to drop off to sleep any moment –

"I hope you still think so," Merlin said quietly, as if to himself, "afterward."

During that four weeks, Arthur was glad to have things settle nearly back to what they were. Classes were three-quarters done, the students were all passing and he didn't expect any of them could fail, even if the last exam was completely bombed. Which he didn't expect, either.

The pace of Merlin's responsibilities slowed, and instead of avoiding Arthur, it seemed like the younger man sought his company, more often than before. The repartee was light and quick, the silences oddly wistful. Merlin still watched him, but without the sense of conflict – more like the yearning Arthur had noticed, out at the ravine. Arthur was glad for any kind of internal peace for his friend, though he was no closer to understanding cause or solution – except to hope that he'd finally convinced Merlin that his desire for their friendship to endure their various trials, was genuine.

Gaius still hesitated when Arthur mentioned coming clean to Alice, and wouldn't meet his eyes.

"Not just yet," he said, and didn't seem completely pleased at Arthur's report of Merlin's attitude and behavior. "She will be very unhappy, let's… give it some time. Prove your friendship with Merlin, that will placate her."

And Arthur, who was just starting to think along the lines of pleasing a chosen lady, keeping her from being upset, didn't push the issue.

His three friends in DC, he hadn't mentioned the upset of his living situation to. They were keen to meet Merlin, having never known a magic-user personally, either. Gwaine was disappointed he wasn't bringing Gwen – because Arthur had mentioned the encouraging state of _their_ affair.

 _I don't want you corrupting her_ , Arthur messaged back. _I'm bringing Merlin instead._

 _Good,_ was Gwaine's prompt response. _We'll corrupt him, then_.

Arthur decided not to mention the plan, or the sentiment, to Merlin.

Classes drew to their satisfactory and anticipated conclusion, and they all survived exams week. Arthur was up later than Merlin, Friday night, calculating final grades and posting them electronically, which was much easier than handing nearly a hundred paper-copy tests back individually.

Saturday morning he slept in. And spent a long lunch with Gwen in her apartment. Giving her a pair of – gasp, no it's CZ and sterling silver – earrings, and a copy of the latest bookkeeping software for her café. In return he received kissing and cuddling on her couch - a memory guaranteed to warm him for eighteen December nights spent in DC – a hand-woven scarf with an adorable blush because Gwen was a self-declared failure at shopping.

At the teachers' potluck that night, he ate two pieces of Alice's peach cobbler, and drank a _little_ too much wine. He took on Aglain in billiards and laughed with the rest at Merlin's blush in opening female lingerie in the Yankee swap.

"Oh, who brought _this_?" Merlin said out loud, taking the laughter good-naturedly. "Charmed to look like shot glasses!"

"Serves you right for peeking with magic!" Gaius called out. Merlin twisted to throw the bit of silk and lace at the elderly headmaster – whose eyes gleamed to catch the garment in midair. Proof, Arthur thought, that Merlin and Gaius had ironed out their differences, also, which he was glad for.

After another round of helpless, tear-jerking laughter, Katrina snatched it, declaring, "I'll take it!" and held it up to her clothing, swaying her hips at Arthur. "What do you think?"

And they all dissolved again. A little too much wine for everyone, probably.

When Arthur left, he didn't see Freya – he'd noticed she avoided large-group gatherings – or Merlin. And later, when he woke briefly to the sound of the door and Merlin's familiar near-silent preparations for the night, at half past midnight, he rolled over, grinning to himself and planning to tease the younger man mercilessly on their ride to DC in the morning.

…..*….. …..*….. …..*….. …*…... …..*…..

"Not leaving so soon?" Alice caught Freya half out the lounge door, and she paused as the older woman joined her in a quick sweeping glance of the room.

Arthur trying to refill Merlin's wineglass; Merlin trying to decline without spilling. Gaius tolerating whatever Katrina was haranguing about – some issue to do with the female students staying over, no doubt.

Freya shrugged. "No reason to stay. The cobbler's gone."

Alice raised one eyebrow, not deterred by flattery. "You're not going to wait for Merlin to re-gift you that silk nightie?"

She felt herself blush, having to pull her eyes away from him, in case he heard her thoughts from across the room. "Alice! Was it you that brought that, then?"

"It's against the rules of the Yankee swap to ask that," Alice reminded her, with a twinkle in her eyes.

Freya rolled her own. "Well, Katrina's got it now. And probably won't give it up."

"But… you and Merlin seem to be closer, these days?" Alice wasn't going to be sidetracked, by any means.

So Freya relented, and nodded, warming inside at multiple memories of her hand in Merlin's. And how she could lean on his arm without him taking uncomfortable notice. How it felt to wrap her arms tightly around him and breathe together – but that led to thoughts of how careless he had been, that day at the ravine, that still bothered her weeks later. Of course she was glad Arthur and the little boy survived unharmed, but – Merlin hadn't even thought twice to attempt seriously dangerous magic.

"So find some mistletoe," Alice suggested.

Freya snorted. "Better luck with your matchmaking somewhere else."

"Well, someone has to try."

She slipped out of the teachers' lounge, instantly soothed by the cool, quiet dark of the hallway. Past curfew, so no noise spilled over from the students' wing. In her room, Freya turned the heat up a notch, and changed into cotton pajama pants and a white tank-top, curling up on the couch with a Jane Austen paperback.

Merlin was going to spend the weekend and several days of the next week in DC with Arthur, she knew, and expected that he'd come to say goodbye – if not tonight, then in the morning. She decided to wait up an hour longer.

And was just to the point in Mansfield Park when Mary Crawford startles everyone with the line, " _But which gentleman am I to have the pleasure of making love to_?" – when a soft knock on her door pricked her ears.

"It's open," she called, as she usually did, and bookmarked Mansfield Park to set aside.

Merlin came in, closing the door behind him and leaning forward on the far arm on the couch. He smelled of peaches and wine - and the strange desperation that had clung around him since the week after Halloween, which had settled without dispersing, since the rescue at the ravine. His hands were empty; she wondered if he'd left the blue silk nightie unclaimed from Katrina, blushed at the thought, and dropped her eyes from his.

"You left before I noticed," he said to her reproachfully. "I was going to say goodbye. I'm leaving in the morning."

"I know," she said, venturing to look back up. His eyes were blue-bright; she wondered how much wine Arthur had managed to pour in his glass, that second time.

"With Arthur," he added, as if she didn't already know. "So. If it goes really badly, I may not be coming back. Farewell forever. Nice knowing you."

She rose to her feet, not happy with the flippant-tragic tone. "You don't think it'll be that bad, do you? I thought you two understood each other again." She _didn't_ think so, not really, but he never answered when she pushed, so she hadn't questioned the status of his friendship with the ordinary teacher for a few weeks.

"I think I understand him," Merlin said, with a wry twist to his mouth that made her venture a step nearer, just because. "But I'm not _sure_ , so… I've decided to tell him. Some things."

"What things?" she asked, resting backwards against her desk. Less than two feet from him, but casual. He only twitched a shrug, so she changed tack. "Things you couldn't tell him before now?"

"If he got really mad –" Merlin with a bit of alcohol could be endearingly boyish; she enjoyed his lowered inhibitions because that happened so rarely. "He might've _quit_. And then Gaius would've been really mad."

"And we couldn't have that," Freya agreed. "Why don't you tell him now, though? Before you go."

He shook his head. "Don't want him mad at _all_ of us."

"What are you telling him?" she said again, curious. "Something about magic?" Which might include all of them in Arthur's reaction – there were dark spots to magic, like most things, but it wasn't anything she'd ever discussed with the ordinary teacher, so she had no idea what he knew and what he didn't.

Merlin didn't answer, once again. "So I wanted to say goodbye to you properly. And I'm sorry in advance if it goes really badly."

The inexplicable apology, together with that glance at her, out from under his brows and bangs, wrung her heart, and she allowed her reaction. Pushing away from her desk – and ignoring the fact that it might not be fair if she had him literally cornered – she twined her arms around his ribs, nestling against his chest and reveling in the feel and smell of him. The movement of his breathing, subtle heartbeat, not-so-subtle shift of his weight that she swayed with, not releasing him.

"Here's a hug for good luck," she told him breathlessly.

And, finally, his arms lifted to acknowledge her embrace, his hands on her back. She shuddered and pressed closer to him, her undressed state arousing fresh nuances of feeling in her body, and she wondered if he felt it, too. But he stiffened; she might have despaired, had she not realized he was bracing against the side of the couch so that she didn't –

She chuckled, resting her chin on his breastbone to look up at him. "I could push you over onto the couch, right now."

He grinned at her teasing, eyebrows lifting impishly. "If you do, I'm taking you with me."

That was a challenge – and a promise – she couldn't pass up. A good strong shove – he clutched at her – the arm of the couch hit her midthigh and he rolled, catching her beside him on the couch cushions, keeping her from falling to the floor.

She gripped him, laughing at the way his legs had to bend at the knee and stick his feet up in the air, because they were too long. His couch, that ugly green-vinyl thing, had padded lumps for armrests, far easier to stretch over.

"Ouch," she said. "That was not as comfortable as I thought it would be."

He laughed down at her, the ripples of mirth spreading pleasurably from his body to hers, as – in their tangled position – he pinned her down on the couch. Very close quarters. With one arm underneath her, he wasn't going to be able to get off easily, either. And one of his knees was between hers.

She couldn't help it; she reacted as she would in her feline form, and as she mostly refrained from, as a human, because it made him uncomfortable. But tonight, she chose not to help it, arching up against him and pulling their bodies closer. Lifting her knee over his hip because his weight atop her was unexpectedly _better_ than upright embracing.

"Freya," he said hoarsely.

"Mm," she hummed, closing her eyes, the better to _feel_. "Why don't we ever do this? This is nice." She couldn't stop moving against him – nestling, nuzzling, caressing any part of him she could reach. Because, _delicious_ friction.

"Because we shouldn't," he responded, trying to lift away from her.

She didn't allow it, didn't want more space between them. "No," she mourned, "we _should_ , we _must_ …"

He breathed against her neck – she shivered with the sensation – and tried again, "Freya…"

She turned her head – with her eyes closed the darkness was infinite but they were connected – and found his lips with hers.

He was shocked, she thought. _All else fails, kiss him – then you'll have to talk about it…_ His lips were softer than she expected, full and warm and she tested and she tasted, peaches and wine – and then he groaned in the back of his throat and responded.

And oh damn. If she ever had doubted how he felt.

It was nice beyond words to kiss and touch him, but it was exhilarating for him to take initiative. To experience his desire for her overcoming habitual reticence, and that fact alone was exciting – breathtaking, the way he let his weight descend and _used_ it.

She curled her tongue around his and whimpered helplessness against the heat rising low in her body – and he broke away, resting his forehead against her shoulder.

"Why," he panted. "Why… are we – why are you…"

"Because I _want_ you," she answered, meaning far more than just physical lust. "Tonight. Tomorrow. Next week, next year, forever…"

"Can't," he managed.

She squirmed a bit, tilting her head to allow him greater access – and in spite of his mental hesitation, he began kissing her neck – moving to her shoulder. She could feel the rest of his body reacting – but he kept his hands where they were, one under her shoulder to cradle her against a possible tumble from couch to floor, and one bracing himself on the edge of the seat cushion.

That was just fine with her. Freed her hands to roam and explore, as familiar as she was with him after all this time, ruffling up the back of his neck and into his hair. She found the hem of his long-sleeve t-shirt, and – even though she didn't want to seduce him to something he'd regret as a loss of control, she wanted him to stay satisfied and content the next morning, the next day, _forever_ – she slipped her hands beneath.

He grunted slightly when her hands found his skin – but she gasped also. So smooth and so warm, lean muscle moving and responding to her touch.

"Oh, Merlin," she moaned.

"No," he said. Forehead on her shoulder again, which put his face down on her chest. "Stop. We can't."

She twisted to bring her lips to his hairline, smelling shampoo and a very fine perspiration, a heady scent that made her tighten her calf around the back of his thigh. "Merlin. I love you."

His body went taut, then bucked deliberately – succeeding then in pulling back. But her hands stayed with him, stroking around his sides to the front of his ribs, under his shirt hanging loose between them, rucked up his back. And her fingers found a curious abnormality, almost like a –

"You can't," he told her severely. "No, you don't."

She would have laughed at the irrationality of his words if his tone hadn't stung. If his look hadn't been nearly a glare. "I can, too. I always have."

He shook his head, hair agreeably tousled and eyes both bright and dark. "Freya, you've got to –"

Like a scar?

She rubbed her thumb more purposefully over the puckered skin that must mark that one of his ribs – where he always put that one hand when he laughed too hard – and he cut off his sentence sucking in a pained breath.

That, more than anything, distracted her attention. "What is that?"

He struggled to pull his other arm out from under her, tried to get a foot down on the floor to stabilize his position to resist her, and had to use his free hand to brace himself on the arm of the couch over her head. And both her hands were still free; she shoved his shirt up to see a round scar the size of a quarter, pulling and twisting the skin around – and a glimpse of a _second_ such, further up and inward. Far too regular. Far too deliberate.

"Merlin?" she said, in some alarm, and released him.

He disentangled himself almost frantically; she sat up slowly as he righted his clothes. And turned for the door.

A flick of her wrist had the deadbolt shooting across to lock it – not an ultimate deterrent, not for _him_ , but it expressed her wishes immediately and clearly, better than any verbal pleading could do. His hand on the doorknob, he pressed his other palm and his forehead against the calendar.

"I cannot ever be with you, not like this," he said, his voice muffled slightly. "Please. For both our sakes… find someone else to love. And be happy, and forget me."

But she was well and truly sidetracked. "Were those… bullet wounds? Those scars?" She came to her feet and approached him to lay a hand on his back. "Merlin, you were… shot?"

"No. Not… really." He shrugged her off emphatically, turning to lean his shoulder on the door – but not to face her.

"Something to do with magic, then?" She realized he'd been holding his hand to his side when he laughed, ever since she knew him. "That didn't happen when you left after graduation. You swore you told me all of that. So it was… before…"

"Before you and I met," he said over his shoulder, his voice sounding harsh, now.

"Oh," she said faintly. Maybe she should sit down.

Trying to distract him from his nervousness for the upcoming weekend spent with Arthur in the city, she'd inadvertently stumbled upon both the reason for the darkness she'd sensed in him since they'd known each other – and maybe the reason he always pulled away from taking their relationship, physical and actual, beyond friends or siblings.

But once discovered, she wouldn't let him conceal it again, untended.

"How? Merlin, how did that happen?" When he didn't answer, she went to him again, laying one arm around his waist and trying to see his face, meet his eyes. "Please. Tell me? Trust me? I meant it when I said I loved you, there's nothing you could say that would make me –"

"I killed someone."

Merlin twisted away from her touch, putting his back to the door. Eyes tortured-dark, skin translucent, and raw animal pain emanating from him in waves that forced her two steps back, hands still lifted but almost defensively.

"What? What do you –"

"I killed someone," he repeated, hard and careless as the swipe of a blade across vulnerable and offensive veins. "That's how I was shot. I should've died. I didn't deserve to live, and I definitely don't deserve love. I'm sorry to hurt your feelings, but – hell, you may never see me again. Shouldn't be too hard to forget me."

"Merlin," she said, trying to ignore the way his words splintered her heart and threatened to fracture her reality. Ignoring the tears sliding cold and wet down her cheeks. "You were – fourteen? younger? I'm sure that there were –"

"Reasons?" he said, giving her a hard, twisted grin. "Sure. And if I told them to you, you'd well and truly hate me."

"Impossible," she said, as firmly as she could. "And believe me, I know what I'm…"

"Arthur's sister," he said, effectively cutting her off again. "Guess what? I'm the one who killed her, as it turns out. That's what's been between us since Halloween. Not some stupid slight over _he didn't tell me_."

Dripping contempt, and Freya took another involuntary half-step back.

"I'm going to tell him, this weekend. Gaius knows, he's known since the beginning, damn old fox may have outsmarted himself this time. So I may end up in jail, and Gaius may have to evacuate everyone, if Arthur uses rich-man big-city connections to take his revenge. All these kids may be without any kind of guidance or support by this time next week, and you may lose your home. And it's all my fault. So. Now you can hate me."

Emotions snarled and tangled in confusion, inside her. Fear at the picture he painted of the future, coming to pass – shock over Arthur's sister – pain at rejection – helplessness to do or say anything to comfort her beloved.

Merlin moved to turn back the deadbolt, and she found herself forced to speak. If this was goodbye.

"It doesn't change anything. For me. I wish you would explain, but. You know I will _always_ want you to come back. To me."

He didn't look at her. But he ducked his head in a nod of acknowledgement. And then he was gone.

She stood a moment, very still in the center of her room, numb. Then moved to lock her door. Turn out the light. Crawl slowly and stiffly into her cold bed alone. And – though not for the first time – Freya cried herself to sleep.

But for the first time in nearly ten years, had no one to turn to for comfort.

…..*….. …..*….. …..*….. …..*….. …..*…..

For the first time that semester, Arthur woke first. That was odd, and caught his attention with curiosity, but Merlin was up by the time coffee was ready, and seemed cheerful enough.

"Is that all you're taking?" Arthur asked, as they walked out the door and Merlin used magic to lock it behind them. It was an olive-green army-surplus sausage-roll, but only one end was rounded out, the rest crumpled for carrying.

"I don't have much," Merlin said. "It would be strange to pack _everything_ for a weekend, don't you think?"

"They might think you're not coming back," Arthur agreed. And grumbled good-naturedly under his breath as he watched Merlin descend faster than he could, under the shoulder strap of his own burden, out the door and to the car.

Luggage in the back, Arthur slammed the driver's door and latched his seatbelt, reached the key to start the car. And Merlin paused, between open door and car, one boot on the kickplate, looking up at the building – then all around him, breath puffing white in the cold, still air. A little like he always kept alert, walking outside, but Arthur got a different sense than the usual security-officer vigilance.

"Are you homesick already?" he teased.

"Well, you know," Merlin said, seating himself and shutting his door, "anything at all could happen to me in the big city. If you read some of the statistics –"

"I never do," Arthur declared, backing out of the parking space and turning the car down the lane that left Lone Oak for Culpeper. "Pessimistic, much?"

"Realistic, occasionally," Merlin countered, his head turned to watch the brick school buildings pass them outside the car, fade away in the back window.

Arthur noticed that he had the sleeves of his camo jacket – EMRYS over one front pocket in black all-caps – pushed up so he could rub absently at his wrists. Bare, for the first time since Arthur knew him; quite possibly he didn't take them off even in the shower, though he wasn't aware that his roommate had ever responded to a crisis stark naked and glistening wet, either. To leave them behind now – Gaius had made arrangements for Merlin's absence, he'd been told – he assumed was kind of a big deal for his sensitive and protective friend.

"So there's this thing we ordinary people have invented," he commented.

"What?"

"It's called a cell phone…" Arthur grinned as Merlin interrupted again, immediately.

"What makes you think an ordinary person invented that?"

"It makes it possible to talk to your friends, even when you're away," Arthur exaggerated, ignoring the implications of Merlin's response. "They can call you. We can drive right back, if you need to. Calm down."

Turning onto Main Street, they rolled past the _Salt and CulPepper Café_ , and Arthur glanced out instinctively – just in case – even though it wasn't open, yet. Even though he'd said an intimate goodbye to Gwen already, and he could call her, too. He caught Merlin leaning over in his seat to watch that building also, as long as possible, with the same melancholy yearning as he'd watched Lone Oak disappear behind them. Like he was saying goodbye for a lot longer than probably-not-even a week.

"I bet," Arthur added, reminded to tease his friend about his own girl, admitted or not, "you could call Freya and she would tell you a bedtime story, every night."

Merlin snorted, slouching in the seat and looking out the side window. "I wouldn't put money on it."

"Why?" Arthur said blankly. "You saw her last night after the potluck, didn't you? What did you guys…" He read obstinacy in Merlin's tension, and gave a hard sigh. "Damn, Merlin, you managed to pick a fight last night? Right before you leave town? On the holidays?"

"I'm an ass, I know," Merlin said lightly, but didn't meet Arthur's glance away from the road. "Just… now she knows, too."

"Seriously? She's probably known that for years, and she still likes you. Merlin…"

Body language and persistent lack of eye contact warned him, Merlin wasn't really in the mood for verbal fencing or romantic advice. Arthur sighed again and gave it up – for now, hopefully Merlin and Freya would talk on the phone later and sort out whatever had gone wrong. He turned on the radio and let the soft sounds of traditional carols and holiday music fill the car. And by the time Arthur was tensing in preparation for capital traffic, Merlin had relaxed enough to fall asleep.

He woke again, abruptly, when Arthur opened the driver's door to a gust of wintry air. Parked under the overhang and in front of the sparkling glass doors of the Georgetown Marriott, still those Bay breezes could stretch out tendrils to freeze blood in his veins, it felt like. Merlin began to climb stiffly out of the passenger seat as Arthur came around the front of the car. The glass doors slid open for Leon – glancing down at his phone as if just getting Arthur's text, _We're here_ – back up again with a contained smile of genuine pleasure.

"She's still standing," Arthur said in reference to the Marriott, meeting Leon with a brotherly handshake.

"Not just standing, but running," Leon corrected with good humor – and spoke over Arthur's shoulder. "You're Merlin, right? Just leave that, we've got someone to take it upstairs for you."

Merlin hesitated at the Chrysler's back bumper, watching the valet driver get into the vehicle. And came to join Arthur and Leon, the crumpled end of the army-bag clutched over his shoulder anyway.

"It's all right," he told Leon, with one of his impudent grins, "my stuff is enchanted – it literally weighs next to nothing."

"Hey," Arthur said, shoving him out of step. "How come you didn't do that for me? Just let me carry a load of bricks?"

"Nobody made you pack all that stuff." Merlin rolled his eyes. "And anyway, the spell has to be done on every object individually, not just the bag."

Arthur scoffed, unwilling to concede the point, and turned to Leon – just too late to introduce them politely and properly.

"I'm Leon," his personal assistant said, offering his hand for greeting. "I can see how well the two of you get along – thanks very much from Arthur's old friends for not making these last few months hell for him."

"He tried," Arthur asserted.

"Not hard enough, I guess," Merlin murmured.

Leon laughed. "He is a lot like Gwaine," he told Arthur. "They'll hit it right off. Go on up, the place is ready – and we're still on for tonight?"

"Yeah – the boys will be off duty?" Arthur said, walking through the double glass doors into the lobby – one set, then a second set.

"Yessir," Leon said casually. And excused himself to head for the hallway where the executive meeting rooms were located.

Arthur took a moment to survey the heart of his domain in satisfaction – _I'm home_. Warm wood tones, apricot and umber, contented guests wandering or walking purposefully – smiling uniformed staff.

Only… no one greeted him, beyond a respectful nod from the concierge behind the desk. Well-run, yes, comfortable, yes, but… it wasn't home, anymore. The thought disconcerted him until Merlin stepped next to him, and he turned to share his hotel with his friend for the first time.

And for the first time since he'd known the younger man, Merlin seemed intimidated. "Impressive," he said, swallowing. "When I think hotel, I think… Ah, _tonight_?"

"Leon, Percival, and Gwaine are coming up."

Arthur led Merlin to the elevators, taking out his own key – no American flag keychain – to program it to take them to the private top floor; Leon had the second one. Merlin acted like it was the first time he'd ever been in an elevator, jittery and tense.

"Later tonight, for beer and poker." Arthur leaned against highly-reflective brass walls and handrail. "We'll get you situated, and then – we can order lunch in, or go out… What do you want to see in DC?"

"Tomorrow?" Merlin blurted, and Arthur grinned at the joke. This weekend was going to be _fun_.

 **A/N: So I apologized for last chapter's cliffie by giving you** _ **both**_ **first kisses in one chapter…**


	15. Drinks and Damnation

**Chapter 15: Drinks and Damnation**

Merlin was inexplicably resistant to Arthur's suggestions that afternoon. In spite of the cold drizzle that had started, they could still do indoor activities like the Smithsonians, but – no, he didn't want Arthur to take him sightseeing. No, he didn't especially want Arthur to order room service for dinner.

"They do pay me for my job, you know," he told Arthur, paging through one of the folders from a regular room, local restaurants that delivered to patrons of the Marriott. His treat, dinner, he insisted.

Arthur snorted. "Is that why you ordered from the dollar menu when we stopped for lunch?"

Merlin didn't laugh, or fire a retort back. All afternoon he'd been oddly content for the two of them simply to share a room, passing time – and at the same time, on the edge of something Arthur didn't understand, instead of relaxed. Maybe it was, the change of location made Merlin think of Morgana. The city where she grew up, alongside Arthur.

He had known she was dead, had missed and mourned her ten years ago, while Arthur's grief was still recent. Was it good or bad, for either of them, Arthur didn't know, but the afternoon was spent lounging about the penthouse talking – Arthur talking, about Morgana. About other things in his life, current and past, but mostly talking about Morgana. It felt good, to him. To talk about her to someone who'd known her, even for a short time, in a different way.

Even if Arthur's return questions were answered in short, vague sentences – _my mom's whole house would fit in this room_ – quickly followed by another question for Arthur. He shrugged mentally. Whatever it took for Merlin to settle down. Probably big cities weren't his thing. Small hometown in West Virginia, and then Culpeper, and he didn't know where Merlin might have been between graduating high school and returning to work there.

Dinner-delivery garbage cleared away, Arthur set out five shot glasses and uncorked the fat long-necked bottle of brandy.

"I," Merlin said, perched on one of the bar stools watching, "was going to regift you those shot glasses from the teachers' Yankee swap. Christmas present. So I didn't actually get you anything."

Arthur made a sarcastic noise. "I didn't get you anything either. And thanks for not regifting me what you actually opened."

"I didn't think it would fit you," Merlin said cheekily.

"Do not call me fat, or you don't get one of these," Arthur warned, and Merlin laughed. His friends buzzed for entrance as he poured the penultimate glass, and he was glad Merlin's spirits seemed to have picked up in anticipation of company. "Open that for them, will you?" he said.

Merlin slid off the stool and went to the door, calling back, "Do I just –"

"Yeah, just push the button by the door."

Arthur came around the high counter of the kitchenette island as the door slid open to admit his three friends – Gwaine predictably in the lead because he was the most impatient.

"Are you single?" the unshaven rogue demanded with preamble, poking a finger in Merlin's chest. Out of uniform and with his hair as long as his jaw rather than tied more professionally back, he could be initially intimidating.

Behind him, Leon rolled his eyes, but Arthur held back, just to see what Merlin would –

"Perpetually," Merlin responded. "But not desperate enough." He poked Gwaine back to emphasize, and Percival's quiet chuckle rumbled into the room.

Gwaine carried on being Gwaine. "Because _he's_ not anymore." Dragging Leon into the room, he headed for Arthur. "Did you know this? Leon's date, of however long ago, is now officially a girlfriend." Gwaine stopped dead, halfway across the room, Leon's wrist still in his grip, and raised his free hand to point at Arthur. "Wait a sec – you're not single anymore either, are you?"

"Not exactly." Arthur couldn't quite hold back a smile. At the door, Percival was introducing himself – and Gwaine by the look of it – to Merlin.

"You're traitors to bachelorhood, both of you," Gwaine declared. "Give me a drink."

"And me," Leon said to Arthur, quieter and more calm. "Having to deal with this all day –" he gestured to Gwaine. "He missed you, Arthur. So eager to see his absent master again, he didn't know whether to chase his tail or dig holes in the carpet."

"Or both at once," Percival added.

Gwaine hoisted his butt onto one of the bar stools and reached for the closest brandy, grinning like an amiable pirate as Percival and Merlin joined them. "Woof. My best to the best who always buys the best."

"Hear, hear," Leon said, passing drinks to Percival and Merlin, who sipped his tentatively.

"And you," Gwaine said to Merlin directly, as Arthur leaned over him to take the last one for himself, savoring the golden taste of the smooth liquid. "What's your story, then. You've got magic, but no girl –" he interrupted himself to say to Percival, "how does _that_ work? Merlin – rich kid? or are you blue-collar like me and Percival?"

"I'm a mountain boy," Merlin said. "Poor as dirt and proud of it."

"Thought you said the school paid you?" Arthur pointed out, amused.

"They do, I just…" Merlin glanced around at the rest of them, slightly self-conscious. "Give it right back. Scholarships for the kids. Since I graduated on one, myself."

"Nicely done," Gwaine said, toasting him. "Altruistic. Loyal. I like him," he said to Arthur. "You better keep this one, especially if –" weathervane in a windstorm, was Gwaine, except when it mattered, and tonight it didn't, much – "he can turn water to alcohol. Yeah?"

"No, sorry, doesn't work like that." Merlin's smile said he wasn't sorry at all, and that he'd gotten Gwaine's measure pretty close. "Can't change one thing into another. Alchemy. Gold-making. Can't be done."

"Dammit," Gwaine said cheerfully. "Ah, well. C'est la guerre. Let's play poker like we came here for?"

"Gwaine's going to try to make gold another way," Percival observed to Merlin, nudging him with an elbow toward the round table set up near the kitchenette. Five seats, cards and chips and pretzels.

"Easy enough, when I win twice as often as you," Gwaine shot back.

"Which is still half as often as me," Leon claimed comfortably, pointing Merlin to a chair between him and Gwaine, as Arthur straddled his own. Percival rolled his eyes, reaching for the deck as dealer of the first hand.

"And Arthur?" Merlin wondered, his expression amused – and relaxed, Arthur was glad to note. It wasn't just anyone who could slot right into place with the four of them, and his decision and desire to include Merlin seemed justified.

"Arthur's the mathematician," Percival said, shuffling the cards with a rolling series of crisp snaps. "That means he always breaks even."

"What about you?" Leon asked the youngest of them, showing a bit of concern. "You've played, before?"

"My mother has told me," Merlin said with an inclusive grin, "every birthday since I can remember, how lucky I am to live to see another one. So that's twenty-four _years_ of luck you gentlemen have to contend with."

Arthur smiled across the table at his youngest friend as the other three laughed, protested, predicted, argued – laughed again.

Just as he hoped. Merlin's fifth at the table wasn't awkward for any of them, but almost – harmonious. And Merlin stopped feeling at his wrists and watching Arthur like a soulful Bassett, unable to speak what his eyes were saying – _there's something still bothering me_ – and laughed right out loud, more than once setting down his brandy or his cards to hold his side with one hand.

Arthur excused himself first, two and a half hours and another half-brandy later, to the kitchenette to do some clearing up. Get a fistful of cold beers out of the fridge. Leon joined him, leaning on the counter and watching the other three – Percival stacking a rudimentary card house, the steadiness of his hand impressive after the brandy, while Gwaine and Merlin stood in fairly serious conversation by the wall of rain-streaked windows that looked out on the lights of the capital.

"What's that about?" Arthur said to Leon, indicating the dark-haired two; Percival glanced over his shoulder to add a quiet point to Gwaine and Merlin's exchange.

"I told you they were alike," Leon said, mellowed a bit more than usual, though it would be hard to tell for someone who didn't know him well. "They're talking security strategies."

Arthur snorted, and was still glad. Things could not be going better. For his three old friends, who probably had worried about his wellbeing, these last few months, and for his new friend – who really needed more friends.

"So," he said to Leon. "The hotel. Tell me really…"

And another half to three-quarters of an hour was spent on candid and succinct business. Leon loved the hotel as much as Arthur did, even if he'd mostly implemented Arthur's ideas rather than originating his own, these last years they'd been owners.

But now, something was different. There was a subtle shift in Leon's manner, that wandered around the back of Arthur's mind til he caught it. Leon felt possessive, after months of having the Marriott as his charge. Which, it seemed, had been a very good thing, a handful of changes had been made – and for the better, Arthur could recognize. Even as he could admit, the innovations might not have occurred to him, if he'd stayed.

"So…" Leon said, after Arthur had not followed up his last explanation with another question. "You seem good. Better. The country agrees with you?"

The country. Being away from DC – business and stress and his father's shadow. Being with people like Merlin and Gwen and Freya, Gaius and Alice and Elyan. Even the ups and downs of teaching, were far more _real_ than the ups and downs of any boardroom graph.

"Yeah," he said, smiling. "It really does."

"And…" Leon ventured – "about Morgana?"

Arthur sighed, rubbing his forehead. "Magic is complicated. People are complicated. And it happened so long ago, anyway… I found out some things. Some not-very-nice things, but I – I think I understand what happened. As much as anyone can, who isn't magic."

Leon nodded sympathetically. And the moment was broken by Gwaine – by now only a pair of knees off the end of one of the deep-comfy chairs of the sitting area, and one hand, in the air, snapping fingers.

"Boy? Boy! Drinks all around, and a tip for you if you're fast."

Merlin, perched on the arm of another such chair, looked to see how Arthur was going to take that – but he'd never had the energy to outlast Gwaine's ability to bullshit. Percival, comfortably straddling one of the folding chairs on Merlin's other side, hid his wide little-boy grin in his arms folded over the chair's back.

Arthur picked up the tray of opened Corona bottles and Leon followed him to the seating area. One hand tucked behind his back, Arthur bent low enough to serve Gwaine without tipping or spilling any of the bottles. "You're fired."

Percival snickered, and Arthur set the tray on the glass-topped coffee table, claiming his own and relaxing into another of the armchairs.

"You'll hire me back in the morning." Gwaine toasted him, head actually lower than his knees – but not a drop spilled when he tipped the bottle to his lips.

"Only if you're sober," Arthur warned him.

Leon once again passed a beer to Percival, and gave Merlin the last one. Arthur watched him peer down the neck of the bottle, and wondered how much alcohol Merlin had already downed, during the poker game. He remembered Freya's comment about getting their friend drunk enough to talk – but the pleasant fog in his own brain didn't care about interrogation, subject or actual.

"Mm. By what time are we talking about here?" Gwaine inquired.

"You shouldn't have asked," Percival put in. "You could've gone til eleven-forty-nine on the definition of _morning_."

"Any magic that can help me?" Gwaine shoved himself a little higher, turning to Merlin.

"Not _even_ magic can help you," Merlin said cheerfully, and Gwaine groaned.

"Come on, there's got to be a spell to cure hangovers – that's the first thing those first magic-users would've cooked up, and they'd never be so cruel as to not pass it down for posterity."

Merlin rolled his eyes, and took a swig of beer. "Possibly," he informed Gwaine. "But, I am terrible at healing magic."

"Damn," Gwaine said, lifting one foot. "Because I have this ingrown toenail I was going to ask you to look at –"

He was drowned out by the protests of the rest of them – _Gwaine, that's disgusting_ , was the gist – including Arthur. And of course, that's exactly why he'd said it.

"What magic can you do?" Percival asked Merlin. Bigger than the rest of them and slightly more sober because of it. Though Leon didn't drink as much as the rest of them, and how much of Gwaine's act was an _act_ , was never readily definable.

"Um." Merlin took another self-conscious swallow, and slurred the long terms slightly. "Levitation. Teleportation. Um…"

"Show us something," Gwaine demanded, lurching almost upright to set his bottle back on the tray on the table.

"Fireworks from your fingertips," Arthur suggested lazily from his own comfortable sprawl in the chair opposite.

"I'll go you one better." Merlin gulped more of his beer – Arthur winced for him – leaned forward to place it on the glass coffee table, and shook out his fingers. Then gave them an outward flick, and a sphere of orange-and-white flickering flame hovered above his palm.

Gwaine cheered and clapped. Leon said, "Don't set Arthur's place on fire. I'd have to organize another room for you both, 'cause he'd refuse to share with you after that, and I don't want to."

" _Can_ that stuff set anything else on fire?" Percival asked.

Arthur's brain and tongue were on a couple-seconds delay by now, and everything seemed like it would make a good joke. He said, "Good thing we haven't got any Confederate soldier-ghosts around."

Merlin's smile vanished, and his hand dropped empty.

 _Dammit. Wrong thing to say – how do I apologize –_

But the other three were unaware that Arthur's foot had just kicked him right in the mouth. Gwaine said blankly, "Confederate soldier-ghosts?"

"That's just a myth," Leon assured him.

"No, it's not," Percival said.

Which surprised all of them, but Merlin looked at him with an intensity that was odd for the situation, though Arthur couldn't think why. Alice said Halloween for Merlin wasn't like hauntings-by-Hollywood.

"I know a guy," Percival continued. "He was in the National Guard about ten years back. Someplace in Virginia – Fredericksburg? – or something. Said a blonde witch attacked them on Halloween with ghosts of Civil War soldiers. Only they weren't ghosts, but skeletons, and they killed a bunch of his buddies. Or something. I'm not sure, he was drunk when he told me, and he said he wasn't supposed to have said it…"

Gwaine scoffed, "Urban legends are always true because they happened to the friend of a friend, and yeah that's proof."

It felt like the slow motion of a horror movie. Arthur watched Merlin turn back to look at him, straight into him with the fear and despair he'd worn upon seeing Morgana's picture and hearing Arthur's confession, _she was my sister_. And the picture on the laptop screen of a blonde magic-user who had died in an accident at the National Guard armory in Fredericksburg, ten years ago. A week after Halloween.

There was no surprise on Merlin's face, only truth of the dark and terrible variety.

"That was supposed to have been an accident," Arthur said slowly. "An explosion in a munitions shed, or something." And Gaius hadn't said, she took backup. He would probably be very angry at the old headmaster when he could think straight, but Gaius wasn't there.

"You heard about it?" Percival asked. "My friend said, that was the cover-up story."

Merlin's expression pleaded with Arthur, not to question. _Not here, not now_ … which was hypocritical, Arthur thought, after he'd been so upset with Arthur for not telling him everything. Well, Merlin couldn't be allowed to be hypocritical.

"You didn't say she had help," he said across the room.

Gwaine started to say something along the lines of _let-me-catch-up_ , and _better_ - _explain-that_ , and Arthur ignored him because _skeletons_ was different than _ghosts_ , and made him think something else. Not something Merlin had experienced when scouting the Dragonlords gang for information about his father, like Arthur had initially assumed.

"Necromancy," he said, and a distant part of him was proud that he could say the word clearly. "You said you'd seen it. You said she sent a boy to befriend you and bring you in. And you'd _seen_."

He was on his feet. Merlin was on his feet also; in the vague sides of his vision Leon and Gwaine were struggling upright; Percival remained seated, staring from one to the next, uncomprehending.

Merlin tore his gaze from Arthur – it looked and felt a physical thing, like a bandage removed from a wound – to beg the other three with his expression, _please let me explain_. "The blonde witch from the armory," he said. "Was a teacher at Lone Oak. She gathered a bunch of us – stupid, lost, hurting kids, and she. Took us to a Confederate cemetery for Samhain."

"Sow-what?" Gwaine asked.

"Halloween. All Hallows' Eve. The thinning of the veil of spirits. She bound all our power together and raised seven soldier-skeletons because she was seriously crazy and thought she could take over the world or something and –"

"And took them to the armory," Percival said. He rose to his feet and set aside the chair he'd been straddling backwards. And maybe it wasn't meant to be threatening, but Percival was big, and Merlin stepped back. "So that story was _true_ … And what did you do?"

Arthur wondered the same thing, because men had died there – but so had Morgause.

Merlin's face twisted with the look of fear and entreaty – and all focused on Arthur. "I didn't know what to do. I tried – please can we talk about this some other time? I swear I tried to stop her by _any_ other means, but after the Boy Scouts –"

Arthur took a step forward, and only realized it when his shin banged the coffee table. His pleasant alcohol haze was turning a distinct shade of red at the corners of his vision.

"Boy Scouts?" he said – silence of confusion from the other three. "What about the Boy Scouts?"

"I told you," Merlin said desperately. "Necromantic rituals raise the bodies of the dead, but not the souls, they're initially joined to the life-force of the magic-user but –"

"What about the damn Boy Scouts?" Arthur roared. His hands were clenched in fists at his sides, and a tear dropped down Merlin's cheek when he flinched.

"Morgause's skeleton soldiers killed them. That same night. To sustain their life force, so they wouldn't drain the magic-user they were tethered to before she could use them again on the armory evidently and _please_ can't we do this later? When…" Merlin trailed off, swallowing and glancing at Arthur's friends, shocked speechless.

Arthur felt a faint flush of humiliation, that someone who knew these things, who had participated in these things, had been brought into his home. Welcomed by him, all unawares. And their pleasant evening shot to hell by Merlin's evil-dirty secrets, when Arthur had fallen all over himself trying to apologize for incomplete honesty, earlier that year.

But that was only a fleeting emotion in comparison to the monster realization that slammed into him and left his head and heart reeling.

"Gwen doesn't know," he said unsteadily. "She still thinks serial killer. She thinks you're her _friend_. You damn _liar_."

He lifted his foot to kick the coffee table out of his way; it tipped and sent bottles tumbling. His three friends exclaimed, but he ignored them; Leon crouched to pick up the bottles, Percival moved in front of Arthur, hand on his shoulder to hold him in place.

Merlin took a step back anyway.

"And you've looked her in the face for years," Arthur continued, letting absolute disgust flood his voice. "And sat in her café, and she gives you a damn discount and I can't believe –" He cut off, thinking of gray emergency blankets covering small bodies, and white roses scattered around the cemetery in Culpeper. Nausea choked him.

"I know, but I can't tell her." Merlin's tone was agony. "If it would only make it worse, I _can't_ – I didn't know her at the time, and I found out about her connection to Lancelot after she and Freya –"

"Hey, why didn't you tell someone what that teacher did, after Halloween?" Gwaine said, from beyond Arthur's peripheral. Sounding puzzled, and sobering fast. "It was how long, til the armory?"

Merlin's eyes had darted to Gwaine for his first question, but were right back to Arthur a half-second later. "She swore us to secrecy," he said. "I couldn't tell anyone, but Morgana –"

The name of his sister was like a punch to Arthur's chest, driving all air out of him for a blackout moment. Couldn't believe he'd forgotten.

"You involved her?" he growled, shifting forward against Percival's hand.

Merlin shook his head, childishly fast and violent. "She already _was_ involved, Morgause used my magic for the ritual and tied the skeletons to Morgana's life-force, and the night of the armory attack we were scrying to watch and she said –"

"The night of the attack," Arthur interrupted. "You were with my sister the night before she died?"

…..*….. …..*….. …..*….. …..*….. …..*…..

 _(ten years ago)_

 _The sun was going down when Merlin stumbled out the side door of the classroom building. The first Saturday detention was served; his head felt thick and his lungs frail from trying to immerse himself in Homer's Odyssey all day. For distraction._

 _He clutched both straps of the backpack Dr. Gaius had given him for school use, and instead of turning toward the dorms, passed the shadow of the building and headed for the Hill, those last rays heating and dazzling his eyes._

 _What a failure he was._

 _Dr. Gaius had given him so much, and in return he couldn't speak so much as a word of explanation or warning, though he could see clearly that the old headmaster was troubled over the Boy-Scout massacre and what it meant. Because Merlin, like his father, had trusted the wrong people. Had listened to the words and felt no further to the darker but truer significance. Optimism and idealism and everyone thinks like me, don't they? And the truth was discovered too late._

 _Merlin allowed himself a chuckle that was almost a sob. His father had died trying to extricate himself from his youthful mistakes, though his mother didn't know he knew it. It seemed Merlin wasn't even allowed to make that sacrifice._

 _The Hill was hardly ever deserted before curfew, even if most couldn't feel the magic of the beacon the way he did. He squinted up at the half-dozen students and his steps slowed. He wanted to be alone._

 _So he swerved around the brow of the hill. And he was eight paces from her before he knew it._

 _"Morgana," he said._

 _She was sitting up, arms clasped around her knees, backpack by her feet, fashionable denim jacket. Alone for once. And he knew he irritated her, she didn't want to question what he'd believed as well; she'd believed it far longer than he had. She was closer to Ms. Morgause, their relationship like family._

 _He wondered briefly what Morgana's real family was like._

 _But when she looked up at him, there wasn't that condescending impatience she'd acquired toward him in his defiance of Morgause. Just a faraway thoughtfulness like Morgana wore, never._

 _"What," she answered. Neutrally._

 _It made him brave enough to say again, "Can we talk?" And glancing up at the others on the hill – not listening, not close enough to listen, but their presence made him self-conscious. "Somewhere… else?"_

 _She left her backpack. Chocolate brown with purple Native American designs, and with her name on the zipper-tag, no one would touch it. He gripped his shoulder-straps more tightly, the burden within his pack weighing him down with necessary impossibility._

 _They tramped and shuffled through the leaves, she leading him, til the Hill was no longer in sight. She seemed tolerant of his company; he hardly dared break the silence. Til she paused rather than take another step, though her gaze penetrated the trees of the woods, instead of turning to him._

" _What."_

 _He thought, she knew what. "Morgause. Did you talk to her? She's going to try something again tonight, isn't she? She's got those soldiers active, I can tell that much, can't you?"_

 _For a moment she didn't answer, didn't look at him. Then she hitched one shoulder in a carelessness that was feigned, he thought he knew her well enough to tell by now. "So what if she is. Morgause is smart and powerful. She'll succeed."_

 _"At what?" he said bitterly. "Starting a war? Battlefields across Virginia again? Reminding ordinary people who never minded us before, why their grandparents called us names and threw rocks through our windows? Don't you pay attention in history class?" He shivered suddenly; the sun had slipped past the horizon, and his father's camo-uniform jacket wasn't really made for warmth. "One witch and seven skeletons are going to take on the entire US Army and government? Law enforcement, FBI? And_ win _? And then what? Geez, Morgana, this is… insane. It needs to stop. I wish I'd never listened to her."_

 _Morgana looked at him again, as if she heard_ I wish I'd never listened to _you. At least Gilli had that whole ignorance-is-bliss thing going on. As unhappy and friendless as he was._

 _"There's nothing we can do," Morgana said. "It's not our fault."_

 _"We have to try something," Merlin said. "Maybe together we can –"_

 _"She has control of our magic, and that oath of silence," Morgana said impatiently. "She can't be stopped. So maybe a few casualties are innocent – in the end, we'll have the power so we won't need to fear –"_

 _Merlin made a noise of frustrated hopelessness, collapsing to a cross-legged position in last year's dead oak leaves, softly decomposing. "She's only controlling most of our magic, so we can still do lessons and no one catches on. Maybe that'll be enough to try… something. If we do it together."_

 _She didn't walk away._

 _He shuffled his pack off, unzipping it and dumping half its contents to get at his second water bottle. She took a more graceful seat as he twisted the cap._

 _"Hold out your hands," he said, and she understood what he wanted._

 _Principles of hydromancy, they'd been taught, though practical application of any sort of scrying was discouraged because it took wisdom and maturity to appropriately direct the Sight. It wouldn't matter to students like Morgana and Merlin, for whom magic worked the first time, as long as the incantation was remembered and repeated correctly. And they were far enough from the school wards now, it would work and he could probably keep it from setting off any alarms._

 _She cupped her hands and he poured the water into the makeshift bowl – trying a warming spell that worked, by Morgana's surprised and grateful glance. He dropped the bottle to tumble under a bush beside them, and glanced up to hang a globe of blue light in the air above them to make the surface of the water reflect._

"Foreloce me thaet gewill."

 _He felt the constraints of the graveyard ritual, as he had whenever he'd cast magic since that night, invisible fetters binding his soul. But the spell worked, images wavering on the tiny uneven circle of water til he steadied Morgana's hands with his own._

 _Their teacher was dressed in black, long blonde hair in waves down her back – vibrant against the backdrop of leering animated skeletons like an enraged goddess._

 _"Where is she?" Morgana asked, squinting._

 _Merlin immediately reversed the image so she could see it upright, and he made do with upside-down. He saw barbed wire and concrete, a cinder-block building and industrial-strength streetlights in a vast paved lot. He saw khaki-colored vehicles, boxy Humvees and angled track-tanks, canvas-covered troop transport._

 _"The National Guard armory," Morgana answered her own question with a shocked sort of dread in her voice. "Highway One goes right past it, in Fredericksburg."_

 _Morgause swept her arm forward and the skeletons – silent in the little pool in Morgana's hands – jerked forward. Men in uniform dashed toward them, stopped – knelt – aimed weapons and fired._

 _Their defense slowed the undead soldiers not at all. The first one reached a guardsman, snatched his weapon away like he was no more than a child with a toy. Then he shoved his bone-hand right through the soldier's neck - Merlin could see blood-stained white waving slightly behind the guardsman's neck as the skeleton flexed his fingers. Morgause threw back her head and laughed – soundlessly – as a hail of rounds bounced off her invisible conjured shield._

 _He could feel the echo of the impact upon his own magic, distant but never disconnected._

 _And the other six skeletons targeted other living defenders of the armory with similar gruesome carelessness._

 _"Omigosh," Morgana said, nausea clear in her voice as she pulled back, letting the water splash between his fingers to the ground. The image fractured and vanished – but somewhere, it was still happening._

 _"She didn't cover her face," Merlin realized, fingers cold in seconds, wet in late-autumn twilight. "She's not going to leave any of them alive to identify her. She's not going to let them surrender."_

 _"Omigosh, I'm going to be sick," Morgana said, wiping her hands on the legs of her jeans. "I can't believe – next time I'm going to suggest that she wears a mask or something, let them go if they want to quit fighting – where's that water bottle?"_

 _Merlin felt nothing but despair, watching the dark-haired beauty react to the carnage they'd just witnessed, reducing horror to irritation. Next time. Wear a mask to hide identity, because of course that was the solution, and the worry was being found out. Didn't she have scruples, or morals? Or was it only that she hadn't become desensitized to the details, yet? As if in a dream, he turned to try to find the plastic bottle he'd discarded._

 _"Never mind, there's another one here," Morgana said, rifling through his bag like she owned it._

 _He turned back to her, dream becoming nightmare._

 _"That was mine," he said slowly._

 _She twisted off the cap._

 _He said, "I've been trying to drink it all day."_

 _She lifted it to her lips._

 _And he let her, watching. Like a train wreck. He couldn't look away._

 _It occurred to him that it might have worked if she'd been the one to kill him, if he could have gotten her to agree to it. Or maybe the oath would have prevented him drinking_ her _bottle of water with a bottle of sleeping pills dissolved in, if he knew he was doing it._

 _If he told her. She couldn't, maybe. Wouldn't, probably. She'd be terrified and furious at what he'd almost let her do, she'd never listen to another word he said and he'd be caught in this nightmare forever, his magic killing and killing and he couldn't warn anyone and he couldn't even end his life and his magic and his guilt._

 _So he watched the bottle touch her lips. Gorgeous perfect red lips, all the boys said so, though no one ever claimed to have kissed._

 _Watched her swallow, shocked at himself. Didn't he have scruples, didn't he have morals… Vehemently disgusted by himself, though he knew already it wouldn't last long. One thing would lead to another, ending and ending, the dominos collapsing to knock the next one down – and he would be the last._

 _His eyes blurred; he blinked tears down his face and watched her swallow and swallow and swallow, because of the enchantment he'd put on it. To mask any taste and encourage the drinking of the whole thing, in an attempt to fool his own body. And he said nothing._

 _She finished it. And went to screw the cap on._

 _Cleared her throat and made a face._

 _Coughed and dropped the empty plastic bottle. And looked at him with growing horror, as if she hadn't believed he was deadly serious, til just that moment. As if she remembered that he'd rambled to her about trying this, and she'd told him_ don't _, so offhandedly, before forgetting it. Til just this moment._

You didn't tell me. You didn't stop me.

 _Dark eyes, the green lost in the depth of the shadowy woods, terrified and accusing and her gaze ripped through his heart like those skeleton finger-bones thrust into his chest._

 _He scooted forward. She fell back, lifting one hand to ward him off. As if he could do anything more to her, than what he'd already done. He wished she was screaming, not choking, as he caught her; he grabbed her hand to keep her from clawing at her throat and eased her down to leaf-mold ground. Bits immediately littered her dark hair as she struggled._

 _"I'm sorry," he whispered into the clean part of her hair; it smelled like roses._

 _He rocked her, keening his breath through his own throat as his movements held more strength than hers. And then her movements were only involuntary._

 _A jerk. A shudder. A last kick._

 _Stillness._

 _His own throat burned; tears coursed down his face unchecked. He was a monster. He was worse than Morgause…_

 _"It won't be long, you'll see," he managed to whisper. "I'll be punished, too…"_

 _Because Morgana's magic no longer sustained the skeleton soldiers, and they hadn't killed enough yet to become immortal. With them crumbled back to lifeless bone on the dark pavement of the armory parking lot, Morgause would be overwhelmed. The soldiers would be screaming for back-up; he wondered who would respond, and how. She could toss vehicles right and left, fell those street-lights like killer electric trees, maybe even rip up concrete, to fight back with magic._

 _But that shield, could probably only take so much. And because his life and magic were bound to hers…_

 _He whispered, though Morgana would not hear him, "Any minute now…"_

 _There was no warning of the unexpected, no sound, no impact. Only three spots of blazing heat igniting in his chest – one to the left, two on the right, high and low – melting his lungs, liquefying his insides._

 _He cried out. Sucked in a breath, and whined again._

 _It hurt, more than anything else he'd ever felt. More than a punch in the face, or being tripped down the stairs, or damn food poisoning, even. He tried to breathe, and it hurt, and he sobbed, though he deserved this. Every bit, and more._

 _It was entirely fitting, when he tasted blood and began to choke._

 _And no one helped lay him down gently; he flopped to his back away from Morgana. One last instinct, one last control._

 _Merlin gasped for breath at the darkening sky, and couldn't sense the beacon anymore and his own light had gone out. No one was coming… He could feel Morgause fading also…_

 _He could imagine nothing worse than dying alone. The ground was hard, the air was cold. His hands were weak and fumbling, and life was trickling away from him._

 _The darkness terrified him. He was a murderer, what would his judgment be? No joining loved ones, no better place…_

 _He didn't want to die. He wanted to go home._

 _"Mama," he whimpered._

 _And no one answered him._

 **A/N: I made up my own scrying spell since I didn't think the couple used in the series fit… Basically I hope it translates to: "I (exercise foresight to see afar off, to discern, to descry; to have or command a view of) what I wish".**

 **And really, I** _ **should**_ **be sorry about this cliffie… Merlin would be sorry about this cliffie… but I'm not. Evidently I have an inner sadist. *winks***


	16. Here at the End

**A/N: There were issues when I posted Chapter 15: Drinks and Damnation, and I'm not entirely certain notices were sent for the update. So if you haven't read Morgana's death scene yet, hit the Previous Chapter button before reading this…**

 **Chapter 16: Here at the End**

" _You were with my sister the night she died?"_

Merlin's face twisted, and another tear dropped. "Arthur please," he said hoarsely. "Please let me tell you… tomorrow, some other time, in private…"

The others looked at Arthur as if wondering if they were going to be dismissed for privacy's sake. Arthur gave a single harsh laugh. "You're kidding me, right? Tell me the damn truth, _right now_. You were with her the night –"

"I was with her the night she died," Merlin whispered.

And there was a vital difference there, between what Arthur had asked, and what he'd just admitted to. A world of difference. Merlin's eyes widened as Arthur took another step forward, against Percival's restraining hand.

"You were _with_ her when she died?" Arthur ground out. His throat burned like a shot of brandy after talking all afternoon about happy memories with his sister. "Then why the hell didn't you stop her drinking that poison?"

"Because I couldn't see any other way to stop Morgause." Merlin was gaunt with despair, fatalistically calm. "I had that bottle of water that I'd dissolved all the pills in and-"

Arthur had been relatively still, too long. Percival's grip had relaxed, and he wasn't prepared for Arthur's sudden and violent movement – and Leon and Gwaine were a step too far away.

He crossed the last yard of distance between himself and Merlin in one stride, reaching back and swinging forward to hit him in the face as hard as he could. Pain exploded through Arthur's knuckles and he cradled his fist breathlessly, looking to see that none of his bones had done the same.

Merlin staggered a single step, but it wasn't enough to keep his balance and he crashed backward onto one hip and one elbow, blood showing from a lip split.

Maybe on a tooth. It felt like Arthur had punched a tooth. He hoped he'd knocked it clean out.

"You killed my sister," he said thickly, and it hurt to say. It was a truth too large and ruinous to grasp. Except maybe by repetition. "You. Killed. My sister. It wasn't depression, or fear of facing my father after graduation. Or some side effect of your witch-teacher's magic-sucking blood-binding. It was you. You bastard. And I lived in the same room with you for –"

Heart and soul twisted in violent nausea, and Arthur nearly vomited. Leon was at his other side, holding him back or holding him up, he didn't know.

"I was going to tell you." Merlin struggled to his feet, swiping negligently at the trickle of blood at his lip and only smearing it. "I wanted to tell you, but I didn't know how, only – I didn't want it to be like _this_. Arthur, I'm sorry, I –"

"Shut up," Arthur said, in a rising fury. "You don't get to say that. Not when you _let_ me say it to you, more than once, and all along you knew exactly how my sister died and it was _your fault_ and you let me thrash about all semester trying to reason it out and–"

His spirit felt raw, bare and vulnerable and flayed. Mistaken, duped, taken for an idiot – trying to make his worst enemy his newest friend and Merlin had _known_.

He lunged forward again; Percival caught him and Leon's weight hampered him. Merlin flinched back, glancing at Gwaine as if afraid he'd take up where Arthur left off. But for the first time, Gwaine didn't get involved in the fight. For the first time, Arthur wished he would.

"What do you want to do, Arthur?" Gwaine said to him, surprisingly dispassionate. He was looking at Merlin – who only looked back at him, though his stance said flight instead of fight, if it became necessary.

 _Let me go, I want to punch him some more. Til he looks like I feel, a bloody pulp of agony._ Arthur growled and struggled, but couldn't best Leon plus Percival.

"I mean, do you want me to call the cops?" Gwaine continued.

Some of Merlin's tension dropped – at the implication that it would be handled officially? Most people, he thought, would be more nervous at the idea of arrest. But if he hadn't been lying about telling Arthur sometime, what had he expected Arthur to do – take a like revenge? beat it out of him? Arthur couldn't deny the impulse, but surely he'd get nowhere trying to pummel a magic-user. That realization sent a wave of ice sheeting over the hot rage of his temper like freezing rain over the windows of the penthouse suite.

"No," he said.

Reconsidered, and felt sick at the thought of presenting the sordid tale to the courts and the media. Involving Lone Oak, and all its innocent youngsters. He tried to shake off Leon and Percival, and was only partially successful; they were ready for another lunge.

"Get out," he told Merlin, instead. "Out. Right now. I don't care where you go, but if I ever see you again –" He held the blue of Merlin's gaze – deeper and darker and more treacherous than he'd thought possible. "I will _kill_ you."

And, heaven help him, he meant every word. Regardless of who tried to stop him, and the idiocy of threatening someone more powerful and obviously more capable of violence. He _couldn't_ , he knew that. But he would, all the same.

Merlin looked at Gwaine.

Arthur added, "There's the door. _Out_."

Stumbling, Merlin crossed the room. Fumbled for the button for the elevator, lurched into the brass-bright interior.

And, for the moment it took for the doors to slide shut, he leaned on the wall, clutching the rail behind him, and looked at each of them. Arthur the longest.

Was that brief glitter the elevator light catching another tear?

Arthur was too far away to read Merlin's expression, and he was glad of it. Lying murderer. If he'd known who Arthur was, would he have –

Wait. Merlin had known who Arthur was. At least the last five or six weeks. And he hadn't done anything to him except avoid… and lie… and save his – and come here to –

The elevator doors slid shut. Leon and Percival released Arthur.

Which seemed to release the heat of his temper again. He swooped down to the coffee table, giving it another full-strength heave – padded by upholstery and carpet, none of his furniture broke and that was not acceptable because people broke each other all the time. And some of that needed to happen on the outside, instead of the inside, because that feeling was unbearable.

So Arthur broke the beer bottles, too. Three of them, lying where they'd fallen and tumbled. Each one, hurled into the kitchen and the sound of smashing glass and flying splinters was wrong and terrible and sharp and… not ultimately as satisfying as Arthur wanted it to be.

Leon and Percival retreated a few steps to a safer distance, but neither said anything or attempted to stop him, which he was grateful for. He'd never done anything like this, he honestly couldn't predict what he might have done, if they'd tried.

Gwaine loitered in the proximity of the door, his attention on something in his hand that Arthur only identified as his phone when he couldn't find any more bottles to shatter, and calmed his breathing somewhat, of necessity.

He collapsed hard onto one of the bar stools. Leon leaned on the end of the island, and Percival bent to retrieve a brush-and-dustpan from the cabinet under the sink.

"Leave it," Arthur ordered him.

It was rare for Percival to disobey, but he did. "So," the big man said conversationally, crouching to begin sweeping the floor. "What the hell just happened?"

"Merlin overdosed Arthur's sister ten years ago," Leon said. Watching Arthur.

Which he couldn't bear – the fact or the scrutiny – so he swiveled to face the other direction. The poker table, cards and chips still lying scattered from the last hand they'd played. Which Merlin had lost to Gwaine, who'd teased him about his ineffective poker face.

Effective enough when he wanted it to be. Arthur propped his elbow on the island ledge and dropped his forehead into his hand, closing his eyes against the nightmare that his life had become, so abruptly.

"Because a teacher tricked them both," Gwaine added, in a tone that was very neutral for him. "And tried to start the second American Revolution."

John Brown and Harper's Ferry. But that was the Civil War. If they were talking Revolution, Merlin was Benedict Arnold.

"So what happens now?" Leon said. And no one answered the question, and Arthur knew it was for him, and he didn't have an answer. Leon added, "Are you going back for the spring semester?"

"Dammit! Leon, I… don't know." Arthur surged from the stool, stalking about the suite because it suddenly hurt to sit still and thinking was excruciating. The scraping sounds of glass continued, as Percival kept cleaning up Arthur's mess.

Gwaine stepped into his path, holding out his blue-lit phone with several yellow message-boxes cascading down the screen. "Lobby says he just left out the front door."

"So?" Arthur said belligerently, shouldering past him.

"Did he cause any damage on the way out?" Percival asked. Gwaine didn't reply, so Arthur took that as a _no_.

"It's thirty-three degrees out there," Leon said. " And wet. He didn't take his coat."

"Whose side are you on?" Arthur demanded incredulously.

"Even if he doesn't deserve the consideration," Leon reasoned, "his things are still here. You drove him in from the school. Does he carry cash on him? Can he –"

"Who says he doesn't deserve the consideration?" Gwaine said. "I vote we get him back here to tell his side of the story when Mr. Pendragon gets the twist out of his shorts."

Arthur growled, rounding on his scruffy friend. Wishing he hadn't already thrown all the beer bottles.

"His side of the story?" Percival said.

"He has the right," Gwaine reminded them, but his eyes were dark and uncharacteristically serious, on Arthur. "Innocent until proven guilty."

"Gwaine!" Arthur said. "He just _confessed_!"

"Yeah, but…" Gwaine made a sudden decision, going for his battered leather jacket. Shrugging into it and shaking his hair from the collar, he fished a set of keys from his pocket. "He can't have gone far. I'll find him, and if you still aren't ready to talk, I'll keep him at mine. Fair enough?"

"Those are keys," Arthur said deliberately, "of the hotel's vehicles." Including, incidentally, his Chrysler. "And you have been drinking."

"And you fired me earlier. Report me for grand theft auto, if you like." Gwaine gave Arthur his most unrepentant grin, punching the button for the elevator, and disappearing as the doors slid shut.

Arthur stared at them again for a minute of incensed silence. Til Percival began sweeping more shards. And Leon offered, "You said the questions of magic and legality and disclosure were complicated –"

On the very heels of the comment, Percival added, "You said he was your friend."

"Shut up!" Arthur demanded, stalking into his bedroom of the penthouse suite's two. Into the bathroom, where he ran cool water and splashed his face and the back of his neck. Hating the traces of alcohol still lingering in his system. He wanted a clear head. If that was possible, ever again.

Morgana… Again – still – he wished he could have been there for her. Dealing with life-or-death craziness of her own – she hadn't given up, she'd been betrayed. And now Arthur had been also, by the same person.

 _Betrayed, really?_ a voice which sounded a lot like his conscience said.

 _Yeah, betrayed_ , he snarled back. _Morgana, why didn't you_ … he didn't even know how to finish the thought. If she'd wanted him to be there for her, she could have said – and she didn't.

Why had he felt such peace at her grave? Why had he been able to smile wryly, telling her he'd met Merlin? laying down that white rose? Why didn't her spirit come roaring out at All Hallows' Eve to haunt the hell out of both of them?

Uncomfortable memory. Merlin waking Arthur in the dark with his nightmare, a grown man sobbing his heart out in a never-answered plea for absolution. Which now, Arthur reluctantly understood.

"Arthur?" Leon's silhouette in the doorway. "It's past one, and -"

"You guys don't have to stay," Arthur interrupted roughly, rubbing his eyes and finding them wet.

"Why would we leave you?" Leon said, sounding puzzled. "Anyway, Gwaine just got back and he's –"

"Did he find him?" Arthur interrupted. He couldn't even say the younger man's name – and definitely did not want him strolling back into the suite, under Gwaine's wing or not. Probably they could stop him killing Merlin, but at the moment he still felt like –

"No, he didn't. But – something happened with the car and he's – he's at your hard stuff, Arthur."

Arthur sighed, feeling too heavy and exhausted to get up. "Cut him off and pack him up and have Percival take him home."

"And what about Merlin?"

At the sound of the name, he found he could push himself up from the bed to his feet. "Not my problem, Leon." Immediately he amended, "Not our problem."

Leon made a noncommittal sound, and added, "Gwaine says, not before he has a word with you first."

Arthur thought about punching Gwaine as well, as he stalked out to the kitchenette; his own security officer was huddled over a bar stool, Percival watching him uncertainly from the other side. Gwaine would punch him back, he thought – but maybe that was okay, in his present mood he didn't think he'd mind a good few rounds of fisticuffs. Until the morning.

"What?" he snapped at the hunched shoulders of his most temperamental friend.

Gwaine downed his current shot in one gulp like a habitual drunk at a bar – which Arthur had seen him do only once before – and turned, without releasing bottle or glass, from either fist. His long hair hung in curly damp strands, though it wasn't dripping. "What did he do to your car?"

"My car?" Arthur said blankly, his step slowed by confusion. "Who?"

"I took your car," Gwaine said, his belligerent tone daring Arthur to take offense. "Drove around trying to find him."

"He can teleport," Arthur said. Kind of randomly – what was Gwaine getting at?

Gwaine snorted like, _well that explains that_. And said, "It's a mess out there, the weather. Coming down sloppy, freezing on the streets. I came down that hill at M Street – and I couldn't stop. Slid right through a red light." He freed one hand to mime the movement. "Like a damn swan on a damn lake and this truck, right? All I saw was headlights and grill. Right." He extended his arm, lifting his palm. "There."

Arthur didn't say, _what happened_. Percival and Leon were both watching him, rather than Gwaine.

"When we both stopped skidding," Gwaine said. "And I pried my eyes open and realized I wasn't smashed through the passenger door. The other guy was out of the truck, babbling like he thought he killed me and – your car, Arthur."

"What about my car?" Arthur said. "And why aren't you at the damn hospital?"

"That's the thing." Gwaine pointed at him. "That truck shoved your car clear across the intersection and never… touched… it." Arthur stared bewilderment and he explained in exclamation, "I don't know! Never touched it! Not a scratch or a dent – didn't even deploy airbags, not so much as a shimmy in the steering! Didn't even knock the bugs from the truck's grill. I came back here because –" he made a sarcastic noise – "there wasn't even a collision to report! So… what did he do to your car?"

Arthur thought of Merlin in a hoodie and pajama pants, that first night, glancing golden magic along his car – _I promise nothing will happen to your car_ \- shrugging it off as a charm to get through the gate. Had he done magic to protect Arthur by protecting Arthur's car, when they'd still been virtual _strangers_?

"He did that without you knowing?" Leon said.

And Percival offered his opinion – quietly, and with a quick glance to see that he didn't offend Arthur – "That doesn't sound like a cold-blooded killer with complicated magic."

"Do you know many high-school freshmen who are cold-blooded killers?" Gwaine asked him. "If you think about it, I could've been jailed for manslaughter at least, a couple times in high school if my luck hadn't held, in certain situations."

Arthur began to remember, with the conviction that Gwaine was right – but he wasn't finished.

"And that was just for stupidity. Arthur, listen. What would you do if I came and told you, I'd planted bombs to blow up – I don't know, Capital Hill, if you wouldn't do what I wanted. Give me a billion dollars. Or rights to this hotel, or something. No, scratch that, you'd just do it. How about if I asked you something impossible. To divert a bomb in the Middle East to a village, what if I demanded something like that. What would you do, let me bomb the hell out of innocent oblivious people because you couldn't deliver – or would you stop me?"

"That's not even logical," Leon pointed out. Percival's square face was granite, his eyes on Arthur.

"Would you stop me, Arthur?" Gwaine said, earnest in a way that made Arthur feel sick to his stomach. "Would you fight me? If I wouldn't stop, would you kill me? To stop me killing anyone else?"

"That's not a fair comparison," Arthur said, dry-mouthed. "Morgana wasn't threatening to kill people."

"No – by the sound of it, that teacher was using them to kill people – and if Merlin as a young teenager thought he had no other choice –" Arthur clenched his hands into fists, and Gwaine held up his own, open in surrender. "I'm not saying, forgive him. I'm just saying, someone like him doesn't do something like that for no _reason_. Maybe listen to his reasons and try to understand?"

That sounded a lot like someone else Arthur knew.

Gaius had known more than he'd said also, he realized. That half-a-story about Morgause at the armory, when surely he had known about the ritual-raised skeletons. How much did he know of Merlin's involvement? And why would he appoint Merlin Arthur's keeper at the school? _What did you think would happen?_ Merlin had demanded of the old headmaster, furious with him and unaware that Arthur was listening.

"You've got – a lot to think about," Leon said. "We'll leave… Boys? Gwaine, I'll drive you home?"

"Yeah," Gwaine agreed, rising from the bar stool.

"I'll take his bag and coat to the lobby desk," Percival volunteered. "In case he comes back for them."

And they left. Arthur tried not to notice, but the look of Merlin's crumpled-nearly-empty army-bag and the camo coat made him cringe a little inside – and try to hate Merlin a little more for causing it.

He wanted to hate Merlin. To blame him… and forget about all the rest? The second semester he'd contracted for – and his things still in the room? But how could he go back to work like nothing had happened? Like the school's security officer, who all the kids loved, and everybody said did such a fabulous job, didn't belong in prison for murder?

And what about Freya, who surely didn't know? What would she say?

Freya, he remembered abruptly, stopping with his hand on the light switch as he headed for bed, to attempt to sleep. Who had admitted herself probably a killer – self-defense, he'd said. But, _It's so complicated, when I have the ability to grow fangs and claws._

What would Gwen say? He wouldn't tell her, he decided in nauseous stupor, flopping fully clothed across the bed.

And felt a chest-wide stab of guilt – hadn't he just named Merlin a liar for withholding information? The same information, from the same person? And hadn't he agreed with Gaius, not to tell Alice his identity just yet, for reasons? He couldn't keep such secrets if he wanted to keep seeing Gwen, and furthering their relationship –

 _Pang_. Was that why Merlin and Freya weren't together, then.

He'd tell Gwen, he had to. Would she be furious, as Arthur was furious? Somehow he couldn't see it on her. Even though she lost someone she loved to a ritual supported – in his limited understanding – by Merlin's magic, as he'd lost his sister to Merlin's poison. Would she forgive Merlin his knowledge? His part in it? Arthur imagined she'd grill Merlin for the last detail and motive – and that he'd answer honestly, too. He wasn't a liar, not really, not when asked directly…

Arthur groaned aloud in his dark bedroom and rolled over, punching his pillow with bruised knuckles. Merlin was too a liar.

Gwen would forgive him, he thought. Because he hadn't actually killed her fiancé – but he had killed Morgana. And Arthur couldn't forgive that, even though… Merlin had forgiven him his intention of killing Freya, that one day in the classroom, in her winged-panther form.

 _I didn't even touch her_ , he argued with that irritating voice in his head. _And, I didn't know._

Why with sleeping pills, though?

He slept but fitfully, dreaming of his sister choking on a grotesquely swollen tongue – coughing up bloody bits of her insides – convulsing in impossible pain-wracked angles.

And woke dully in the gray dawn, with the same determination he'd arrived at in the spring.

He'd have to go to Lone Oak for answers.

…..*….. …..*….. …..*….. …..*….. …..*…..

Freya woke with a dreadful inhalation, the nightmare forgotten even as she realized it. She lay in bed, her heart pounding and her lungs trying to pant for more air and… the dread was not dispelled.

Sitting up, slowly and silently, she instinctively used her senses to explore her surroundings for any hint of danger. Her eyes told her, the bedroom was empty and still; her nose told her, there were no changes in either of the other two rooms to worry about.

Maybe the vague alarm she felt was due to the unsettled state of her mind whenever she thought of Merlin. Which was often. It was hard to know, there wasn't anything she could do for him, about Arthur. It occurred to her that she didn't feel as safe, as when she knew Merlin was actively securing the campus with his presence.

Because that last sense, hearing, picked up something. _Brush-click-scrape_. Someone in the hall? at her door?

She squinted at her clock. At 1:44 in the morning? And not rapping sharply to inform her of emergency? Could someone get through locks and wards and –

Subconsciously, though, she _knew_. Already her legs were out of bed, blanket and sheet tossed aside; fingers gripped the doorframe to spin her around into the main room, flying to unlock and open the door.

Merlin leaned against the wall outside, nearly hugging it, as if it were the only thing holding him up. She gasped his name, and he lifted his head enough to see her.

Dripping wet, hair to boots. Translucent pale in the single overhead light-panel, eyes pools of shadowed agony. His lower lip divided by a line of dried blood.

"Freya," he said.

"What _happened_?" She moved to support him in spite of the wet, but his hand on her shoulder held her off.

"I came to say… g'bye." He was slurring his words – and beneath the cold-rain smell was _alcohol_ – and she knew he meant, for good. Just as she knew, she'd have a hard time finding him and staying with him, if he didn't want her to.

"What happened?" she repeated gently, reaching to brush sodden locks of black hair away from his face. "Where's Arthur?"

"I told Arthur." If he noticed her touch, he didn't show it. "He's 'n DC, still. Came here 'lone."

"Will they follow you?" she asked, in the same soft tone. She had a little experience with that, fleeing the law. Even without explanation, she knew Merlin didn't deserve a prison sentence for murder – but he'd be stubborn about letting her come with him if he was running from law enforcement.

"Arthur was… furious." The way he said those two words, Arthur and furious, broke her heart. "Just with me, though. Not the school. Tell Gaius, Lone Oak is… safe. But I… have to leave."

"Merlin, why?" she said pleadingly.

"Because Arthur will come back here. All his stuff's in the room… I can't even… If he sees me, he's going to kill me. An' I d'serve it." Merlin bobbed his head in acceptance. "But… he shou'n't be a killer, should he. Not him. Not like us."

Merlin pushed upright from the wall, turning away from her – staggered, weaved a single step, then crashed back into the wall so hard she knew he'd have bruises. And since he couldn't see her coming, she swooped under one arm to catch him up –

And shuddered in shock; he felt like an ice sculpture come to sluggish life.

"Oh my gosh," she said, ignoring his usual reluctance for touching, to lay her hand against his cheek. Hypo-freakin'-thermia. An idea hit her, like ice melting in a sudden rush all down her back. "Merlin, did you – you didn't teleport all the way here from DC, did you?"

He mumbled, " 'Rthur. Threw me out. Hates me. Gotta leave…"

"Oh, no you don't," she determined. Absolutely shaky at the evidence of his utter carelessness for his own wellbeing. "Come on, come inside."

"Tell Gaius…" Merlin's leg gave out and they lurched before he caught his balance.

"I will," she promised. Her magic closed the door behind them, and a flick of her fingers lit her desk-lamp beside them. "And you can leave in a minute, all right?" If he took it into his thick head to teleport again, he might very well kill himself. And leave her behind. "Just – let's get you dry first?"

The lamplight followed them into the bedroom, where he swayed like a willow but kept his feet as she awkwardly stripped the soggy flannel from his dead-cold arms, as his t-shirt clung to his ribs. The unusual absence of his alarm-charms made his slender bony wrists look vulnerably naked, and she decided to dry the rest of his clothes on him, for his own peace of mind.

"Freya," he said, watching her kneel at his feet on the floor to begin with his jeans. "You'll… always be my friend, right?"

She rose to her feet, gesturing for the magic to dry the rest of him. Sick at heart to hear the childish uncertainty in his question. "You know I will."

He let her press him down to sitting in the rumpled mess of her bed, watched her remove his shoes and socks, cooperated to lift his feet into the bed. She nudged him closer to the wall on the twin-size mattress, then slid in beside him, arranging the blankets to cover them both, drawing him down beside her.

Hells, he was so cold. And not shivering. She put an arm around his neck and drew him to her; he rested his head on her chest and curled an arm around her waist. There was the smell of rain in his cold-dry hair, and tears in her eyes. Focusing, she set her magic at a low warming hum that vibrated in her teeth and bones, but not unpleasantly.

" 'S just," he mumbled against her chest. "I trust, and then… Just don' know if a friend is real. An' gonna stay… y'know. 'R hate me, 'cause I… killed somebody…"

 _Damn you, Arthur Pendragon_ , she thought fiercely, as Merlin's relaxing weight seemed to squeeze the tears from her eyes, trickling cold down her temples as her magically-enhanced body heat began to seep into him.

No, that wasn't quite right. Arthur probably had every reason to be angry and hurt – he'd lost his sister. Damn whoever's fault it was that Merlin had been put in a situation where someone died, in such a way that he believed it was his fault.

"You're mine," she whispered into Merlin's hair. "And I'm yours. And we'll always be together…" When he warmed up – when she didn't have to fear him leaving abruptly – she'd go for Alice.

Until then, she held him close and counted each breath he took, the steady output of magic and warmth wearying her both mentally and physically. The last thing that made sense to her was to press a kiss to his forehead.

…..*….. …..*….. …..*….. …..*….. …..*…..

In the morning, Arthur sat on the bar stool in his kitchenette, nursing orange juice and a headache. Watching, duly, the swirl of reflected light on the stainless steel of the fridge – newly dented, probably by one of the beer bottles he'd thrown, last night. A shape like melted wax rising in a lava lamp – but when he moved, it shifted and the light areas went dark, while the dark areas lit up naturally and smoothly.

There was a lesson in there somewhere, he thought. About truth and perception.

Why sleeping pills. And why, if Gaius had known that Merlin killed Morgana – as certainly seemed possible, if not likely, by the conversation he'd overheard in the cottage garden – he'd invited Arthur to come to Lone Oak. Long-term. Get to know and understand.

The more he tried not to think, the more he failed. And might keep failing, til he had these final answers. And could maybe then, settle in his own mind, how to tell Gwen that one of her best friends had been involved in her fiancé's murder. Years ago, and just never told her.

Because the more he failed at not thinking, the more details would creep out of his memory to ambush him with darts of guilt, thudding and sticking, nearer or further from his heart as the center of the target. Like the way Merlin had gazed at Lone Oak, and then the Salt and CulPepper, as if saying goodbye. As if he did mean to make his confession to Arthur, and wasn't sure what the outcome would be – _slimy little bastard_ , he reminded himself, _waited til I taught through the end of the semester, though, didn't he?..._

 _Please not to quit because Gaius would have a hard time replacing you, and blame me for that…_ All the way up to _, I meant that he could plan for me, not to be here._

Arthur didn't want to think of Freya, and the incident behind the Culpeper park that prompted him to repeat his invitation that had brought Merlin here yesterday. Twice extended, and he felt a fiery embarrassment for that. The person who he'd asked to come stay the holidays, was not the person who had come.

But he failed again, and thought of Freya – and the ravine behind the park. _You saved my life_ , he'd said. And promised not to forget it.

 _Saved my life, killed my sister_ , he thought bitterly.

All the moments it seemed like Merlin had wanted to say something, and didn't. The fact that he himself had chased the younger man down, and declared, _So don't tell me. I'd rather you didn't tell me anything that I might have to report you for…_

Humiliating stupidity.

 _if I'm wrong about you_ , Merlin had told him, _it won't be just me that suffers. It'll be Gaius, too, and Alice, and all the school. Freya, and the kids_ …

The things he'd told Gwen about his sister. Fiery and proactive and thoughtless. Won into Morgause's confidence, entangled in something she didn't understand… Just like Merlin, if he could believe his talk about the one boy who'd befriended him. That memory was a flaming poison dart, and he wouldn't acknowledge the heart-wound it left, even as it smoldered.

A teacher bent on murder and mayhem. And she'd been stopped, though he wasn't clear on how… Gwaine's comparison had been ridiculous – but it made Arthur shift uncomfortably.

Damn it all, what was the truth? Did he want to know?

What he did know, was that he wanted to keep Gwen. And, if he also wanted to finish his teaching contract…

Arthur swallowed the last of his orange juice, acid churning uncomfortably in his stomach, and reached for his keys.

Percival was in the lobby when he reached the ground floor, respectfully professional. "Good morning, sir." Arthur grunted, heading for the door; Percival fell into step. "Gwaine already pulled your car around front. Just in case, he said."

Arthur looked at him, and Percival diverted his steps to the lobby counter, snapping his fingers at the attendant, who produced Merlin's army-bag, and his camo jacket. Arthur found his feet had stopped, waiting til Percival brought him Merlin's things – and then his hands accepted them.

EMRYS, right there under his fingers, faded with age and use. Merlin's father, who may or may not have died heroically, betraying former comrades to deserved justice. Who the world believed a criminal – and whose son still wore his jacket in silent tribute.

Did Merlin _know_? Or did he just trust the people he loved?

Arthur balled the jacket tightly, and threw it into his back seat, along with the olive green bag. And drove the seventy miles back to Culpeper. Music hard and angry, to keep him from thinking. Tense from the traffic, he told himself.

The cafe was open, but Arthur didn't see Gwen through the front windows, and drove past.

Lone Oak's gate was shut, and he _wondered_ , as the car rolled forward. He kept his foot on the brake, just in case – but the gate dissolved when he was still two feet away. As always. He wondered if that was an oversight on someone's part.

And drove right to the headmaster's cottage. In case it was an oversight, Gaius could tell him so, and to leave. Perhaps Merlin, wherever he'd gone and wherever he was, hadn't talked to anyone on campus about the utter disaster last night had been – but he wasn't willing to bet he hadn't.

And when Gaius came to answer Arthur's ring of the cottage doorbell, he wasn't completely surprised. "Hm," the old man grunted. "I didn't expect you so _soon_. Interesting. Come in."

"Is he here, then?" Arthur said, following him down a short hall into a cozy front room. Worn-luminous hardwood, worn-comfortable fabrics in earth tones, greens and tans with a burgundy stripe in the rug ringed by a collection of dissimilar-but-matching armchairs. Norman Rockwell prints on the walls.

"He returned to campus last night. Freya texted me this morning, and I've got George Valiant to call me if he passes through the wards again." Gaius waved to an armchair. "Sit down. We can't stop him leaving, but – it's good for my peace of mind to know he's still here."

"Why," Arthur said. Settling, but not relaxing, as the old man in his weekend button-up-and-cardigan with corduroys, sank back into his own chair. "Do you know what he told me? About the night Morgause – and my sister – died? Then why the hell is he still here? Why did you ask him to return, and trust him with these children's lives?"

Gaius regarded Arthur over the steeple formed by his fingers. "Why did you trust him with yours?" he said mildly. "The revelation of a youthful indiscretion might change your perception of him, but it doesn't change who he is, what other good he's done, or what good he's capable of doing, in the future."

"Youthful indiscretion?" Arthur said incredulously. "He put a lethal dose of benzodiazepines into a bottle of water and gave it to her to drink."

"No, I don't think so," Gaius said.

Startling Arthur yet again. Could the old man be so willfully blind where his protégé was concerned? "What do you mean, you don't think so?"

"Let me make a suggestion. Alice does not yet know who you are; I haven't spoken with her on this topic. If she joins us for this conversation, perhaps you will believe my testimony more readily?"

Arthur grunted. " _You_ are clearly biased in his favor."

"I am," Gaius agreed, unperturbed. "But I hope you will begin to understand why. Shall I call Alice? She was the one who found them the next morning, after all."

"Them?" Arthur said, frowning. "He was still with Morgana, the next morning?" Gaius only quirked an eyebrow, requesting an answer to his question. "Yes, then. By all means, let's call Alice to join us."

 **A/N: "I am glad you are here with me. Here at the end of all things…" Title comes from this quote from Lord of the Rings: Return of the King.**


	17. Swan Story

**A/N: I apologize on behalf of the site for the missed chapter-update notices!...**

 **Chapter 17: Swan Story**

When the school nurse arrived in the headmaster's cottage and met Arthur in the living room, she was understandably upset to be finally told the secret that had been kept from her, all semester. She was also a professional, and remained calm. Absorbing Arthur's confession of family ties, the brief explanation of why he'd come – with two tears of sympathy and a heartfelt, _I'm so sorry for your loss_.

Before she turned fiery disapproval on her gentleman companion. A single question, that promised plenty of retribution later.

"You invited him here without telling Merlin – and without asking my input?"

The headmaster was a gruff old man; her ire didn't seem to faze him much. "You would have been against it. You would have told Merlin that Arthur's sister was Morgana."

"Yes. I would have. What were you thinking?" She glanced at Arthur, who was waiting impatiently for her to get to her testimony. "He found out somehow, didn't he? Right around Halloween? And that's what he was struggling with, the rest of the semester. Are you satisfied, you old goat?" she hurled at Gaius, shifting her weight in her chair in a way that conveyed scorn. "He's been miserable."

"Alice," Gaius said gravely. "He's been miserable ever since that night. He's just gotten very good at hiding it."

Arthur opened his mouth to say, exactly what happened that night? and was diverted by the memory of the old headmaster telling the young security officer, _You are living half a life and giving too much of yourself to this job…_

"So why in hell did you ask me to come here?" he said to Gaius, more calmly. "If you expected this to come out? You couldn't imagine that I would be anything but righteously _infuriated_? I don't feel like I want to drag any of us through a court case – but you couldn't know that, this spring."

"I had hope," Gaius said. Lowering his head slightly to regard Arthur from under bushy gray eyebrows. "Didn't I say, get to know us and understand us?"

He'd also told Arthur about Merlin, _There is that in his past which… he has not yet overcome. He is a good man, and far more essential to this school and the work we do here than most realize. He doesn't deserve further hurt…_

Arthur could accept that the old man had chosen to do as he thought best, for all of them.

 _I have about had it, with what you think is best for everyone_.

It might have worked, somewhat, for Arthur to comprehend what happened to Morgana, in such a way that Merlin avoided murder charges and prison. But allowing – no, encouraging – their acquaintance to grow into friendship, only meant, this revelation hurt both of them, that much more. As Alice said, Merlin had been miserable – was still miserable – and now Arthur was, also. So how was that _best_?

"How are things between the two of you now?" Alice asked him. "Where is Merlin?"

"With Freya," Gaius said. "It's still unresolved."

"Unresolved," Arthur said, like the word itself tasted bitter. "You're unbelievable, you know that? I don't ever want to see him again, and I told him that, so it's up to you, I guess, if you want to find a new security officer, or a new math teacher."

"What?" Alice said, sounding surprised. "Okay, I suppose I can understand why it might be hard to forgive him his part in it right away, but sooner or later –"

"Why the hell should I forgive him?" Arthur exclaimed. How many times could he be taken aback in one conversation. "Is there something I don't know about what happened when he _killed my sister_?"

Pause of silence, as the malice in his words echoed uncomfortably through the room. And hurt Arthur, illogically, like a knife that had slid in his hand to cut his own fingers.

"Maybe _how_ it happened," Alice murmured, narrowing her eyes shrewdly. "Or _why_ it happened…"

The sound of the front door down the hall interrupted them, and Freya's voice blended with the sound of hurried footsteps. "Is he here, Gaius? Has he come to –"

Arthur twisted in his chair to see her enter the room in a rush, wearing a pair of gray sweatpants, her wavy hair tucked under the neckline of Merlin's maroon sweatshirt as if she'd donned it in a distracted rush, tennis shoes without socks on her feet. She saw him in an instant and stopped – shocked, initially. He rose, not sure what else to expect from her reaction – but what he got was a deeply unhappy disappointment.

"He took such a chance on you," Freya said to him.

What was he supposed to say to that?

"Arthur drove out from DC this morning to ask a few more questions," Gaius commented. Neutrally, but Freya evidently heard something Arthur didn't; when she looked back at him, the disappointment had lifted just slightly.

"I hope it's not, too little too late," she said to all of them, a fine frown wrinkle between her dark brows. "I went to make him breakfast in the lounge, but when I brought it back to the room, he was gone. I thought maybe he came here…"

The reaction to the news of Merlin's absence was instantaneous. Gaius grabbed a phone from the small table beside his chair, and Alice straightened in hers. "Gone?"

"I know," Freya said to her. "He really shouldn't even have been awake, much less able to –"

Gaius on the phone, voice sharp with concern, cutting over them. "George. Is he still on campus, or has he left?"

Utter silence. Both women riveted to the old headmaster – who gave a sigh of relief which they echoed even before he spoke again.

"All right. Please inform me if he does, though? Thank you."

Arthur did not understand, and that irritated him. He ventured sardonically, "So… _she_ knows?"

"Two nights ago, Merlin told me, he killed your sister," Freya said to him, and her earnest manner soothed the jolt of the words. "He told me he was going to tell you – I know it must have been hard for you to hear, but I believe there must have been extenuating circumstances –"

"There were," Alice interjected.

Freya continued over her interruption. "Because he wouldn't explain exactly _how_ he got shot –"

"Who, he?" Arthur said. " _Merlin_ was shot?" All three looked at him, gazes like palpable things, pressing him back; he fumbled his way down to the edge of his seat again.

"Surely you saw the scars," Freya said. She touched her side, her middle. "You were his roommate."

"Yes, but I've never…" Dazedly Arthur recalled Merlin's habit of rising early, of undressing in the dark – the one time he'd gone into the bathroom to change a sweaty t-shirt.

"They're kind of distinctive marks," Freya added, "two of them, just alike."

"Three," Alice put in. The correction touched Freya with horror, momentarily, and Arthur couldn't deny feeling something similar.

 _Shot_? Like, with bullets from a _gun_?

"I think I know where he went," Alice said to Gaius. "We should make sure he's okay, though. You remember how he was, after."

Gaius humphed, but Freya's expression and restlessness betrayed the depth of her concern. "I could find him, as a Bas," she offered, "but then I couldn't talk to him. Not that he told me much, anyway." She laced her fingers together and glanced at Arthur.

"You should know," Alice agreed, with another glance at Gaius, as she pushed herself up from her chair. "And Merlin ought not be made to tell, again."

"Very well," Gaius said.

"On the way," Alice added immediately.

The old man got to his feet, tucking his phone into the pocket of his cardigan. He took Freya's arm to lead her down the hall. "Ten years ago, before you came here, the history teacher was a woman named Emie Morgause. An expert in deception, we found out later…"

Arthur lost the train of the story when Alice planted herself in front of his chair, hands on the hips of her overall jeans, brushing the sides of her quilted-lining denim jacket back. "You're coming, right? As foolish as Gaius' idea was, this time, you're probably the key to fixing things for our boy. And it would do you good to hear the truth, too, hard as it might be."

"Would you have told me," Arthur said, standing so that he looked down on her again, rather than vice versa. "If I'd said at the beginning of the semester, who I was?"

"Certainly not," Alice said, unrepentant. "You're ordinary, you wouldn't have understood. Now, however… I guess we all have only to hope."

She gestured, and Arthur followed the other two down the cottage's short hall, out the door that Gaius held open behind them.

Just as Freya, fingers over her mouth, exclaimed, "She did not! Oh, how horrible!"

"The worst thing about the oath of secrecy," Gaius agreed, "was that none of the rest of us noticed. He sat in my office and tried his damnedest to tell me, poor boy. His magic so agitated it fairly demolished one of my bookshelves in a telekinetic tantrum."

Distressed, Freya looked up at Alice, turning from closing the door behind them, and the older woman answered her question. "Yes, he tried me, too. Could barely croak out, _I have a problem_. I gave him – heaven help me – cough drops."

 _So why didn't you tell someone?_ Gwaine had asked.

And Merlin meant, _I_ couldn't _tell anyone,_ quite literally.

Freya made a sound that might have been laugh or sob. "And she did this to how many of the children?"

"Thirteen altogether," Gaius said, leading her past Arthur's car, toward the rise of the lawn that separated them from and hid them from the rest of the school. "Though only Merlin remembered the necromantic ritual."

Gaius and Freya kept going, but Arthur lagged when Alice swerved away from him suddenly to take two steps to the back door of his Chrysler. She opened it without hesitation and bent to retrieve Merlin's camo jacket, before slamming it and rejoining him.

"I suppose I should say, thank you for bringing this back. I had a heck of a time getting his blood out of it, even with magic."

Arthur stumbled a step, but drew upon Pendragon fortitude. "So about the part where he was shot?"

…..*….. …..*….. …..*….. …..*….. …..*…...

 _(ten years ago)_

 _Sunday morning early, things were pretty quiet. Most of the kids sleeping in…_

 _Alice couldn't sleep, so she hooked her basket over her elbow and took to the great outdoors, looking for anything with homeopathic value to supplement the modern medicine she dealt with as the nurse of a school of magic._

 _Past the brick dormitory, toward the hill. It was chilly, and she was thankful for the flannel shirt she'd thrown on over her prowling-the-forest overalls. She couldn't help fishing her phone from her pocket, checking to see if somehow she'd missed a message from Gaius. And even the thought of her autumn love affair - both of them comfortable and content to follow their chosen career without the side-trip into the complications of marriage – could not bring a smile to her face this morning._

 _No messages. She tugged at the end of her braid over one shoulder, and didn't put the phone away._

 _Last night's schnapps-and-Emerson conversation had been interrupted half a hour before midnight by a phone call. Gaius had dropped his glass and gone sheet-white; for a panicked second she thought,_ stroke _._

 _A woman had been shot and killed while trespassing without authorization upon federal property. Specifically, the National Guard armory in Fredericksburg – which was the opposite of isolated. Identified as the history teacher of Lone Oak Academy. And under very strange and disturbing circumstances._

 _As soon as Alice heard Morgause's name, she thought_ magic _. And_ violence _._

 _Gaius had whirled for his jacket, patting pockets for car keys. "Do a head count in the dorms for me, please," he'd said, inexplicably._

 _She and George Valiant had taken barely twenty minutes to discover that Merlin Emrys and Morgana Dubois were missing. Gaius had answered her call while he was driving, she could tell by the background noise – unheard of for the normally careful headmaster – and had said a word, a series of words, she'd never heard from him before and never thought to._

 _Alice had never liked Morgause, mostly because Morgause didn't want to be liked. Respected, definitely. Feared, maybe. But she was an undeniable magnet for certain of the young ones – she was powerful and fearless, when most of the young people still feared their power…_

 _Warm in the morning sunlight, Alice came around the hill to find that one of the students had left a backpack out all night. One of the girls, by the look of it – she bent to check the tag attached to the zipper._

 _Morgana._

 _The phone in her hand rang, and she let her basket drop as she straightened, thumbing the green answer call button a bit absently, now. "Gaius?"_

 _"I am on my way back to the school," he said, sounding tired. "They've been questioning me all night about Morgause – evidently she performed a necromantic ritual and raised seven skeletons to do her bidding."_

 _"Oh my goodness," Alice said faintly. "And of course her bidding was to attack the armory…" She couldn't help thinking of the shock-and-scandal story of the previous week, the Boy Scout troop murdered by a serial killer, as yet uncaught…_

 _"Indeed." Her love sounded unhappily stern. "The bones are no longer animate, the spell broken with her death – and that's the end of it as far as the authorities are concerned. Case closed. But Alice… you and I both know she hadn't the strength for that, not on her own."_

 _Alice looked down at the chocolate-and-purple backpack at her feet. "Morgana? Merlin?"_

 _"Both, maybe. Though there is no sign that either was present at the armory last night."_

 _"Morgana's roommate," Alice said, peering into the wooded area and beginning to move forward. "Said she saw the two of them start out on a walk together – but George found no indication to suggest they were still on school property."_

 _"Were the alarms triggered?"_

 _"No, but they might have gotten outside the wards without setting them off," Alice replied. She was no tracker, but she knew the woods, and she trusted her instinct. "You know George isn't the most imaginative…"_

 _"No one said anything about a link between last night and that Boy Scout tragedy last week," Gaius' voice said in her ear. "So I'm inclined to –"_

Alice _?_

 _She froze, looking up and letting the phone drift downward by her jaw._

 _"Alice?" Gaius said._

 _"Give me a minute," she said into the phone._

Alice _? The voice in her head sounded young and scared and sick. Not like Morgana at all, but she hadn't spoken to young Merlin enough times to recognize his in her head._

Who are you? Where are you? Do you need help? What's wrong? _Alice projected, turning on the spot to help identify the direction._

Alice… please…

 _She hurried, heavy boots catching on roots and stones, twigs and brambles snatching at her overalls. "Hello?" she called out. "Who's–"_

 _And then she saw them._

 _Morgana first, through a break in the bushes – lying back against a little rise, still and white and somehow Alice just knew. She took two running steps forward – and then saw him._

 _The boy stretched face down, closer to her than Morgana, as if he'd made an attempt to return to the Hill. Head rested on one arm – and a smeared trail of old blood soaked into the dirt and rusting the leaves beneath and behind his legs._

 _"Oh my goodness," she said, circling the bush that sheltered him to kneel and check Morgana first – corpse-cold and no pulse, as she'd feared. But she'd worked half a dozen trauma centers across the state before coming to a semi-retired position here at a country school – her skills took over her emotions. She turned to check the boy –_

 _His eyes were open, and trained on her. He was still alive._

 _"When you get here," she snapped into the phone, "come to the Hill, then fifty paces straight out from Morgana's backpack and hurry, dammit."_

 _She ended the call and pocketed the phone, then scrambled awkwardly on her knees to the boy. He watched her come and didn't move, even his breathing nearly imperceptible._

 _"What happened?" she questioned, to try to get him talking. It was always better if you could get the victim talking, explaining, working out events and connections in their own minds. "Merlin? Where are you hurt?"_

Alice, I'm sorry. Tell Gaius…

 _He blinked languidly, his eyes moving unfocused, then his eyelids settled shut._

 _"No, no, no you don't," she mumbled, reaching with swift gentle hands to turn him over, since the tough dark material of his oversize camo-uniform jacket could hide any number of injuries. "Come on, you've got to talk to me, here, tell me where you're hurt so I can-"_

 _His mouth dropped open and his lungs squeezed a moan through his throat at her movement, and no wonder. The jacket wasn't fastened; blood was soaked and smeared all over his plain gray t-shirt, darker down the front of his jeans where he'd tried to drag himself – though the shirt didn't seem to be damaged, not torn or –_

 _She pulled it up and over his torso, gently clearing the fabric that wanted to stick._

 _"Sonuva_ bitch _," she said._

 _Three wounds. Bullet-holes, she'd seen such before, beginning to ooze dark blood sluggishly – again, she thought the weight of his body might have slowed the blood loss as he lay on his belly._

 _All night long. Alone in the autumn woods, dying beside the dreadfully too-young corpse of his companion, his friend._

 _She couldn't think of that. She had to think of… The white and cool of his skin and the bruises around his eyes and the cracking of his lips – not to mention all the blood on the outside of the boy – spoke of a near-fatal level of loss already. And exposure._

 _No gun to be seen, no guns permitted on school grounds – but if Morgause had used his magic, it was a fifty-fifty bet she'd linked them in such a way that he'd suffer her injuries, whatever they were. Bullet wounds, then, but no bullets._

 _"Merlin? Can you hear me? Come on, stay with me – open your eyes for me, can't you?"_

Tell Gaius… sorry _… The telepathic voice was fading fast, as if he'd only hung on this long to pass his apology like a baton, and he was done running._

 _She didn't hesitate, sliding her palms in dried and drying blood, speaking the words of the best and fastest spells, speaking them again and again and switching her hands because there were three holes and she only had two hands._

 _The boy arched a bit against her palms, tipping his head back and squeezing his eyes shut against further pain and the trauma of knitting flesh – in one case bone also – unnaturally fast. He gave a whine like a very small child, then a gasp – then all at once, all tension deserted his body in a long soft sigh, and he slumped motionless, eyes open and glassy._

 _And there was no movement beneath her gore-smeared hands. No breath, no heartbeat._

 _"No," she panted determinedly to his spirit that still lingered. "Oh no you don't! Not you too!"_

 _In the near distance, she heard Gaius calling her name, footfalls crunching over the forest floor. "Alice? Where are you?"_

 _"Gaius!" she shrieked back, and his footsteps quickened._

 _Leather loafers and dress-slack cuffs shuffled into view on the boy's other side, and then dress-slack knees hit the dirt as the old headmaster bent over the boy he'd worried about more than any other these few months – she knew, even if he never fully explained why. "Oh, my boy!"_

 _"Your magic, Gaius, quick!" she snapped._

 _He didn't hesitate, holding out his hands, and she snatched them, beginning to chant the spells again, careless of Merlin's blood smearing from her skin to his._

 _"We shouldn't, if he's gone," Gaius remarked softly, his hands unwavering as his eyes sparked gold behind his glasses, flashing again and again with her use of his magic. "This is what_ she _did. We should not raise the –"_

 _"This is resuscitation, not resurrection," she contradicted. "Magical CPR."_

 _She continued the incantation three more times before the thin bloody chest moved again. Stuttered up, and then down, with inhalation and exhalation. And beneath the dark blood crusted or gelid on his skin, the obscene holes were safely sealed._

 _The boy's eyes blinked slowly; the breath continued, though labored as she would expect from someone who'd essentially died for a minute – and who'd lost so much blood._

 _"Merlin!" Gaius exclaimed. "Can you hear me?"_

 _The boy slurred the headmaster's name, and Alice sighed in relief. He should be out of danger, now._

 _"Can you tell me what happened?" Gaius continued. "Ms. Morgause – Morgana?"_

 _Alice did not approve of such questioning at a time like this, but the situation was totally beyond her approval anyway. One of their teachers killed in a terrorist act on federal property, and now the daughter of a very rich and influential man dead – linked to the horrors already made public. Merlin's life spared, so – weak and traumatized as he must be - there were other considerations that could not be denied._

 _The boy moved – tried to turn – whimpered and fell back, drawing his knees up helplessly one at a time, and swallowing dryly. "I'm sorry – Gaius, I'm so sorry."_

 _"Sorry for what, my boy," the old man said gently._

 _"She said… she said… magic, and freedom, and… we should be loyal to each other, so we swore… and we didn't know, but we swore…"_

 _He lifted his head, shaggy black hair dulled with dirt and leaf-mold. Alice caught the back of his neck as another sound of pain strangled in his throat, and Gaius bent to add his arm to the boy's support, both of them leaving handprints in his own blood._

 _"I tried to tell you." The boy's hand found and gripped Gaius' lapel, and there was anguish in his voice that twisted Alice's heart, he was so young. "I tried to tell you. She was a necromancer. She made us forget… the ritual in the cemetery… only it didn't work on me."_

 _Alice couldn't help remembering – a pit of guilt yawned beneath her soul – how he'd huddled in a plastic chair in the nurse's office, wordless and gaunt, and she'd given him honey-lemon Ricola._

 _"The skeletons… sustained on Morgana's life-force, til they killed enough to untether from her." Fingers scrabbled, back arched; his body was like skin and wire. Alice wondered if he was aware he'd been healed. "Those Boy Scouts – infant sacrifice – I tried to tell you, but she made us swear and it meant she took my magic, too…"_

 _"All right," Gaius soothed, trying to raise him to a self-supported sitting position. He slanted an eyebrow at her in silent communication._

 _So Morgause had taken the boy's magic for the ritual, disguising her intent with platitudes, and then bound them to silence – a spell that might have only broken its hold on the boy when his heart had stopped for a moment, just now. And when she was shot, so was this young boy. Alice clenched internal fists, thinking words she wasn't in the habit of saying._ Monster. Bitch _._

 _Merlin gulped, his eyes terrible and intense as he clung to the old man, possibly believing that he was still dying and in his confusion trying to warn them. "I had – sleeping pills, in the water. I tried to drink it… I tried to drink it…"_

 _And of course Morgause's control would not have allowed him to intentionally harm himself… Alice turned her head and saw the plastic bottle, coated with condensation on the inside from the night spent out of doors._

 _"And Morgana drank it instead."_

 _Merlin released Gaius so suddenly the old man couldn't catch him, and he dropped back down to the ground with a grunt of pain. Flipping over to his stomach between them, he lifted his head to stare toward Morgana's body for a moment. Then, each breath sounding with pain, he tried to worm his way closer to her._

 _Alice couldn't help envisioning him doing the same, in the dark, after the girl was gone, trying to pull his dying body back to light and companionship and help. Her hands covered her mouth, not quite touching, as bloody as they were; Gaius was speechless, too stunned to act._

 _"I didn't stop her," the boy panted. Hand on her boot, on her jean-clad shin, his strength gave out and he curled weakly, sobbing to the point of retching, on an empty stomach. "I didn't stop her, I didn't stop her, I killed her…"_

 _He writhed, clawing at his shirt, at his gory body, not finding the fatal wounds anymore._

" _Why not me? I should be dead!" Some realization sparked, and he glared at Alice, an ancient avenging angel in a fourteen-year-old body. "Why did you save me? Why didn't you save her? I should be dead, I'm a murderer too!"_

 _"Hush, boy, hush," Alice said, shuffling to try to catch hold of him again in his agitated state, though he batted at her hands and wouldn't let her. "Your magic would have fled from Morgause's grasp as soon as she breathed her last. It must have returned to keep you alive until we came, and you shouldn't question that miracle."_

 _"I don't want a miracle," he whimpered, curling finally into her lap, arms trying to wrap round his head – and in that moment, she loved him as her own child. "I want to go home…"_

 _"Merlin," Gaius said, visibly drawing authority into his manner. "Merlin? You've got to get up, if you can, and go with Alice back to the school, do you understand? Alice, tell George to call the authorities; I'll wait here for them."_

 _She pushed heavily to her feet, stumbling a little as her legs had grown numb under her weight, but her touch and strength was sure, to draw the boy upward to his feet, away from the body of his friend. Alice mourned – such beauty and such vibrancy, and one of the greatest powers there at Lone Oak. It was a sin, what Morgause had done, to deceive and manipulate these young people who instinctively trusted and emulated._

 _Gaius fished a black backpack from a nearby bush, zipped its contents inside, and handed it to her. She shouldered it and hugged the boy's skinny shoulders and began to steer him to the school, keeping him from tripping._

 _He was going into shock, she thought. Probably again. His eyes, glazed with more of the tears that made silver snail-tracks down his pale cheeks, stared unseeing. His skin was still translucent-pale and trembling-cold, and his arms dangled uselessly at his sides. He couldn't take a steady step, but if he passed out, she wasn't at all sure she could manage to carry him. Already he was taller than her, and bony – which meant heavier than he looked._

 _"You're going to have to keep talking to me," she said gently. "How many others were there? You said they didn't remember the – ritual…" She cringed from that foulest of words, necromancy._

 _He replied in monosyllables, and Alice grieved for him, also. She'd seen traumatized children before, and every time it was deeply regrettable. Every time made her wish she could somehow bear the emotional pain for them. What terrors he'd seen and endured, this week – she was sure they'd leave a lasting mark on his psyche._

 _When they reached the lawn she performed a little spell; no one would see them cross or enter the building or lock themselves away in the little infirmary room. Once there, she kept him answering pointless little questions about his schoolwork as she helped him undress to his shorts, providing dark green school-logo sweats for warmth and comfort after she washed the blood from his slender body and dark hair with a warm wet cloth._

 _Then paused, as she removed his bloodied clothing from sight in preparation for laundering that might seem too callous at the moment, in his presence._

 _Seated on one of the infirmary cots, his gaze had fixed on a distant point over one of her shoulders; she assumed, staring into space. Now she noticed that the locked glass cupboard of her pharmacy was there across the room – and wondered how he'd gotten enough sleeping pills to put a person to sleep permanently. And what he was thinking, now._

 _She came back to him with a tartan blanket. "We'll call your mother later when you're feeling better," she reassured him. "But for now–"_

 _"No," he interrupted her. "Don't tell my mother. Please? Don't tell her?"_

 _For a moment she held his gaze, hesitating because a world of misery brimmed there, and to meet it with the logic of_ we'll have to _seemed heartless, at the moment. Whatever he saw in her face, he turned away to the wall, curling up on the cot with his arms folded into his chest and his feet tucked together._

 _She spread the blanket over him, patted it to conform more comfortably to the contours of his chosen position, and smoothed the cover of the thin pillow, already littered with dirt from his hair. Easing off his tennis shoes – both soles worn thin – she stuffed the blanket under his feet._

 _He closed his eyes. Each inhalation was a silent gasp. Each exhalation a low sustained hum of misery._

 _Alice locked the strongest spell she knew on her pharmacy cabinet, and waited in the hallway for Gaius, where she could see the boy through the small square window in the door._

 _Waited through the rising uproar. Sirens. Curious gossipy students wandering weekend-empty halls. Not her job to deal with that, though she felt for Gaius in his role of headmaster, especially after last night, to have to deal with another death, another host of painful and probing and complicated questions._

 _Hours later he came, hobbling along the corridor like a truly old man - though she usually told him he had a few good decades left in him - eyes on the floor._

 _"How is he?" he asked, before she could get a question of her own out her open mouth._

 _She answered honestly. "We will need to watch him, Gaius. He spoke so casually of trying to… kill himself. When the shock passes and the truth sets in, he will need something – someone – to cling to. A reason to keep going."_

 _"I will talk to him," Gaius said tiredly, looking in the window at the boy on the cot. "I have an idea he'll blame himself, and perhaps I can encourage him toward atonement, rather than self-punishment."_

 _"What about the rest?" Alice asked. "Morgana?"_

 _Gaius sighed, shoulders slumping further in a way that hurt her, too. "Tell me if I'm wrong, Alice, but – I suggested very strongly to the paramedics that she had taken her own life. And I will do the same when I speak to her father, later. They will do an autopsy, but I wiped evidence of Merlin's presence from the whole area –" magically, Alice understood – "before they came. The only admitted connection to last night is the close relationship between teacher and student, and the logical conclusion of the girl giving in to despair that her mentor was both a criminal, and dead."_

 _Alice shivered, but nodded._

 _The crime was Morgause's, and she was dead – along with a student innocent of anything but naïveté. Nothing good could come of admitting stark truth to the law and the courts. There was still so much of magic that was misunderstood, and a case like this made public could be devastating to their entire community, as well as ordinary people without magic, especially considering who the girl's father was. Not to mention the effect of an inquisition and a trial on the boy already so distressed by the events themselves._

 _"I agree with you," she said to Gaius. "We save Merlin."_

…..*….. …..*….. …..*….. …..*….. …..*…..

Dead-brown grass crinkled with frost underfoot; the sun had not come out yet that morning to thaw it away. Arthur's thoughts felt similar, as he gazed downward – sharp and cold, distant and unconnected – though Alice's presence at his side, quiet now after her story was told, might begin to feel warm, in a moment.

Well, Morgause was the history teacher, after all. She could have been working off any number of models. American Civil War to Nazi Germany to… who knew. And the current history teacher – Arthur thought of Cory Sigan trying to take over the world using Merlin's magic, and shuddered.

Had Morgause planned to use the Boy Scouts, or was it sheer _wrong-place-wrong-time._ Was she after the armory weapons, or explosives – or planning something bigger?

"Did Morgana know what she was doing?" he blurted aloud to Alice. Evidently, Merlin claimed, she'd been unconscious for most of the graveyard ritual. He realized belatedly that his question implied his belief in this version of events.

"I don't think so," Alice said, taking his arm to encourage him to walk. Somehow they'd passed the classroom building with the gym in the back, though he didn't remember it. "Merlin believed she accepted Morgause's platitudes without knowing details."

Without wanting to know details? Arthur wondered with a sinking feeling. That was one of Uther's insistences that Morgana rebelled against – always always read the fine print.

He squinted up at the windows of the administrative building as they walked past. He wanted to stalk furiously and burn off energy, force clarity and sense into his world because… they all seemed to be on Merlin's side. And he was starting to believe them; how could he not? Gaius and Alice had known him for a handful of months, as a child – and ten years, since.

That made him suspect, sooner or later, he'd start to feel guilty about the way he'd treated – _murderer_ , he reminded himself; who feels bad about the guilt a killer experiences?

The building watched him, he felt, with a wry sort of immutability, as they walked slowly onward, past the dorms. And then the Hill was in sight. No students – most had gone home for the December holidays, and it was too cold for the rest of them to want to pass free time outside.

So the blood oath kept Merlin from telling anyone, and from harming himself in any attempt to end Morgause's control. And the benzodiazepine-laced water bottle had been intended for him, though when Morgana drank it, he hadn't stopped her. Beginning, as he understood, a domino effect – with Morgana's death, the skeletons lost animation, which left Morgause vulnerable to the full force of the Guardsmen's defense – and when her shield failed and she was shot, so was Merlin.

He looked up to the other two, at the top of the Hill beneath the lamppost, Freya in the old man's arms, and evidently weeping.

"Did he know, then?" Arthur asked Alice, unsteadily. Even though all his being cried out, _There must have been another way!_ he couldn't help thinking of his roommate at fourteen years old, having two seconds to decide, as the water bottle was lifted and tipped.

"Merlin is clever and intuitive," Alice said tiredly. "I have always thought, the only way he could have watched her and kept silent, was to believe, he would be next. He has always felt, he should have died. _Also_ , if it couldn't have been _instead_."

Arthur looked at the bleak bare woods, and shivered.

" _We_ chose not to tell the truth," Alice added. "Because of the scandal of your sister's involvement with a woman who was virtually a magic-terrorist – for our sake, and for your family's sake. Morgause was dead – a justly-deserved punishment. But by the time Merlin was aware again, your father had been notified and the burial arranged, and everyone believed that she'd been alone when she ingested the pills. We hadn't saved his life to see him judged and misunderstood, we persuaded him that it did no good to tell the truth – that he would be better off making his life count."

 _It's a way of paying a debt,_ Merlin had told him, way back in September. And, that the telling of this secret risked more than his own freedom – Gaius and Alice both would have been implicated in the scandal. And that might have meant the end of the school.

"Better to live free and do good, than to condemn himself – or live under society's horror and punishment. He has done so much for so many here, and often at his own expense."

Arthur could not help thinking of late nights, and emergencies, and weekends. Merlin's exhaustion – and cheerfulness. He didn't resent his position, those charm-alarms that Arthur had compared to handcuffs, but gave and gave again.

 _He's been trying to make up for it ever since._

Still he tried to resist. "How am I supposed to believe you?" he said softly.

"I don't know," Alice said, with a shrug of plump shoulders and a sad smile. "I guess you can only, choose to trust."

Leaving him, she mounted the hill toward Gaius and Freya, laying one hand on each of their shoulders, tipping her head to meet the younger woman's gaze and speak to her.

Arthur's eyes dropped to the camo jacket over her elbow, and he thought of Merlin's father once again. His own father, who'd lied to him – and thought he was doing what was best. Merlin trusted that his father was a good man, and maybe it didn't change that truth – but it said something about Merlin.

What would Arthur's choice say about him?


	18. Evidence of Remorse

**Chapter 18: Evidence of Remorse**

Arthur watched Gaius release Freya's embrace – and Alice urged the older man to leave the Hill, descending away to the left maybe sixty degrees from where Arthur stood. He snorted to himself at the evidence that the school nurse had forgiven the headmaster his lies of omission, within the hour – or at least, enough to take his arm and walk with him in companionship.

But Freya was watching Arthur. Expectantly, or so it seemed, and he really didn't want to talk to her. Not _her_ , not _now_ – but when his feet began to shuffle him reluctantly up the Hill, he knew it for his own conscience, not magic.

"Are you all right?" Freya said as he approached, fists shoved into his coat pockets. She knuckled the corners of reddened eyes, but then met his earnestly.

Arthur snorted, and repeated what seemed like a ridiculous question. "Am I all right."

"Well. You are very new to magic, and probably not used to the way it can –"

"Screw up your life in a heartbeat?" Arthur suggested sarcastically.

She gave him a tiny tremulous smile. "It does seem that way, sometimes. But magic can also be beautiful and useful and hopeful."

This time, he couldn't snort disagreement and derision. Not after Alice's story of using it to save a life. Not after Merlin's spell on his car had likely saved Gwaine's. And cult leaders who brainwashed their followers into doing stupid or dangerous things, were by no means limited to the magical community.

"Do you know what this is?" she ventured, putting her hand on the post of the light of the Hill.

"A beacon," he said. "Magic people sense and follow it?"

"Not exactly." Her shy smile turned hopeful. "There is residual magic here, but it's very faint. This is a beacon, because Merlin believes it is a beacon. His faith and hope, is what gives it power. It's what brought me here – I felt it, as I was passing."

She pointed upward, and he squinted into the low gray cloud-strata, understanding _flight_. And evidently it had brought Mordred, too – who might otherwise be using his magic for heaven-knew-what, here or in Eastern Europe.

"He believed in you," she ventured.

Arthur gave a hard sigh, deliberately trying to relax the tension from his shoulder muscles. "It really doesn't change anything for you, does it," he said. "Hearing all that. It doesn't change the way you feel about him."

Keeping her dark eyes on him, she shook her head slowly, as if trying not to antagonize him.

"I don't think I'm as good a person as you are," Arthur said, remembering how she'd invited him in for a remarkably candid conversation only hours after he'd tried to kill her.

Remembering how she confessed that she might have killed two people, too.

"You're here now," Freya told him earnestly. "That says a lot. Do you want to keep going? It's cold out here and I'd like to coax him back inside, if I can."

Arthur followed her down the hill toward the two older people – Gaius watching them, Alice bobbing a bit as she searched into the rough wooded area.

"Morgana," Gaius said, as Arthur and Freya joined the two older people, "is not the only person who can forgive Merlin, Arthur. I hoped, if you could understand magic and get to really know Merlin, you might make peace with the truth – and with him."

"That's a tall order," Arthur said, feeling annoyed at and resentful of the old man's advice.

"Not right this minute," Alice placated him, taking her eyes from the forest. "Just – begin. You may find that forgiving Merlin for your sister's death takes the burden off your shoulders also, that you've been carrying since you found out."

 _I suppose when I feel like you'd be proud of me, I might be able to really say goodbye…_ Would Morgana have wanted Merlin forgiven, guilty of manslaughter at least? Handed a magical get-out-of-jail free card? Let off with…

Arthur remembered with a wrench of heartstrings, Merlin gasping through helpless tears, in the dark of the anniversary week of her death. _I'm sorry I'm sorry I'm sorry…_

A lifetime of self-recrimination. Arthur thought of Gwaine, almost a father and powerless to change someone else's decision, the choice taken out of his hands and he left with undeserved regret. And no way to absolve himself of his part in it, to fix his mistakes.

"Whatever," he growled, stomping into the rough. The other three followed him; he assumed he'd be corrected if he started veering off course, but they said nothing, and he was glad for that. He still didn't know if this was something he wanted to be doing – and especially not with an audience.

Arthur saw the roses before he saw Merlin.

Overgrown bushes, climbing vines, trailing blooms that were impossible for the season. White as snow, a scatter of purity over the dead brown of Virginia's December. He was aware of Gaius stopping – of Alice catching Freya's arm to hold her back. Of all three looking at him.

 _Okay, now I'm sure. I really don't want to do this._

"What if he just takes off?" Arthur said in a low voice to Gaius. Because, after all, he did threaten to kill Merlin if he saw him again. And, _he_ would not want to stand still and take it, if someone who was mad at him decided there needed to be round two.

He remembered facing Merlin furious in defense of Freya in her winged-panther form. Declaring he'd do anything to protect the innocent – yet still giving Arthur a second chance, letting him in. Introducing him to Gwen.

Did Arthur want to give Merlin a second chance – now or ever? Or maybe it was, now or never. But would Merlin want it?

"Only one way to find out," Gaius suggested, with a gesture.

Arthur faced the roses, and set his jaw.

There were things to be said.

So he moved forward, unable to walk silently. Crunching leaves and ducking branches and Merlin would surely hear him coming – if he was even there – before he saw…

The sleeve of the blue plaid button-up, pulled tight over a bony elbow. Bent jean-clad leg just visible at the bottom of one of the larger oak trunks. Arthur angled to the side so he wouldn't come up right behind Merlin, and slowed his step. His roommate sat on his heels leaning against the base of the tree, arms crossed over his knees to rest his chin on.

Arthur couldn't tell if his eyes were open without bending to look into his face; he stopped awkwardly about five feet away. Touched one of the roses with his forefinger. Stared blindly at skeletal bushes and naked trees and bare earth and didn't recognize anything from the scene photos Leon's investigator had provided.

If Arthur wanted evidence of remorse, it was all around him. Did Merlin deserve forgiveness? He could admit the possibility, outside the way he felt.

Would Morgana have forgiven him? That, Arthur honestly doubted. Morgana's motto was more like, _I don't get even, I get ahead_. She was like their father that way – inclined to be unforgiving. She might choose to rub Merlin's nose in his guilt and enjoy watching him suffer.

That turned Arthur's stomach to contemplate. Because – shocker – he realized he did actually care about Merlin. The idea of making friends – beyond the convenience of getting along with a roommate, or the partnership of each representing ordinary and magic – was not something he was ready to turn his back on and declare a failure.

Gwen cared about Merlin. And would probably continue to do so, even after she found out. And Arthur wanted to continue to be a part of Gwen's life.

Merlin needed… something. And Arthur might be the only person – living – who could give that to him. He wasn't sure how he felt about _you-killed-my-sister_ , but he didn't want to be the sort of person who withheld pardon to inflict punishment for revenge.

"So this is where it happened," he remarked, for lack of something more brilliant to say.

Merlin didn't seem to have noticed him til he spoke; he raised his head slowly and unsteadily – and didn't exactly focus on Arthur. "What? Arthur?" He blinked, and seemed to have difficulty holding up his head, his gaze finding and keeping a spot on the ground to Arthur's left. "Why're you... here?"

Arthur was reluctant to acknowledge that there might be something more wrong with the younger man, than overwhelming guilt. "You didn't drink that much... Did you – not sleep last night? What is wrong with you?" Then a horrible idea hit himand instead of answering, he took a knee before Merlin in a rush, blurting out, "Did you _take_ something?"

A frown wrinkled Merlin's brow. "No," he said. "You think I would… punish myself… dying the way she did? No. Gaius persuaded me… long ago. Better to use my life to help others like her, than to end it."

"Okay. Good." Arthur rested back on one heel, his relief mixing unpleasantly with the other emotions of the morning. The place, and his companion. "What is wrong with you, then?"

A pale smile flitted, there and gone. "Why do you care?" he said softly.

Arthur snorted, remembering that day, too. "Maybe I don't."

"Then why are you here?" Merlin's eyes roamed Arthur's face with childlike curiosity, his pain so hauntingly clear it was difficult to hold his gaze.

"The boys convinced me, I didn't hear the whole story. So I drove out to ask Gaius a few more questions, face to face. Then Freya came to say, you were missing and she was worried…"

Merlin closed his eyes and turned his head, showing skin bruised by Arthur's fist the night before.

And Arthur felt compelled to add, "She really loves you. In spite of… everything. Trying to convince me to reconsider my whole _I'm-pissed_ position."

The sound his friend made started as mirth – and ended as pain. "I'm not stupid," Merlin whispered. And if a tear hadn't slipped out from under his lashes, down his cheek, Arthur might have tried for a normal-sarcastic rebuttal of that claim. "I love her more than my own life. I always have. But she doesn't deserve someone like me – she deserves so much better."

"Does she deserve to be alone because the guy she chose can't forgive himself for… one mistake?"

Merlin looked back at Arthur. Yes, he was aware of the significance of what he just said; Arthur bounced to his feet and held out his hand in invitation, a wordless _let me help you up._

"I don't know if I forgive you," he said. "I may still hate you. But I… don't want you dead, or gone. And I'm… willing to see what the future might hold for both of us."

"You're going to stay?" Merlin asked wonderingly, ignoring Arthur's hand in favor of searching his face, again.

"I honor my contracts. I'll teach the spring semester. And, I'll retract my demand for Gaius to choose between us. Because he'd choose you." Arthur managed half a smile. "This is going to be weird, and awkward, and angry – but maybe we both can have another chance."

"I – honestly can't believe you just said that," Merlin said, looking at the forest around them. Arthur wanted to let his hand drop; it was getting tired held out. "Are you sure I'm not – hallucinating?"

"Why would you be hallucinating?" he said, snapping his fingers to get Merlin's attention back. "Come on, get up. The others are waiting to see that I haven't throttled you after all."

Merlin reached out his hand and Arthur took it, cold as it was from being outside for a couple of hours at least, in December. It wasn't easy to haul the younger man to his feet; Merlin's balance seemed inadequate, and maybe more than just stiffness from cold weather and immobility. Arthur was moving to steady him when Merlin collapsed against him, hanging off his shoulders.

"I'm sorry," he gasped. "I'm so, so… It was, only a few minutes. She didn't realize, right away – but I held her, and –"

"Shut up," Arthur said roughly; every word scraped across his heart and his instinct was to fling Merlin away from him. "Please just, stop. I understand, and Merlin – I'm sorry that either of you was in that position, to have to make those choices."

"It was my fault," Merlin mumbled, his forehead making a bruise, it felt like, on Arthur's collarbone.

"No, it wasn't – it was Morgause," Arthur said. "Now – what is wrong with you?" Every attempt to center Merlin and extricate himself had the younger man swaying alarmingly, tipping and tilting.

"After-effects. It'll wear off."

Well, he could just drop Merlin there, and tell the others. Probably Alice could do something to help. But Merlin hadn't met his tentative overture with sullenness and resentment. And Freya was too small and slender, and the other two too old, to give Merlin this sort of help, if it was necessary.

Arthur wrapped Merlin's elbow around his neck and gripped the opposite side of his belt. "After-effects of what?"

"Teleporting. From your place – back here."

Arthur would have shuddered if he wasn't staggering under his friend's weight, back toward the others. Seventy miles, and the magic to teleport would require the sort of energy it took to sprint the distance. Hadn't the guy who'd run the first marathon – Marathon, Greece, to report on the battle – dropped dead, afterwards? And that was less than half the distance Merlin had traveled…

"What was that you were saying about not being stupid?" he said.

"I sometimes don't… think straight," Merlin admitted, not seeming to notice the jibe, "when I'm… messed up."

"Yeah, I think we've established that," Arthur grunted. "Come on, move your feet. I hate you, you know that?"

"S'all right. I hate me too, sometimes."

"We'll have to set up a schedule." Ahead, he could see Gaius' cardigan, Alice's denim, and Merlin's maroon sweatshirt on Freya – who saw them and started forward instantly, crashing gracelessly through autumn-dry underbrush in an anxious-eager straight line. "Take turns hating you."

"Can I go first?" Merlin said. His foot tangled, and his weight swung Arthur around before he caught them both from falling. "That way, you won't hate me."

"You only say that because you're a selfish bastard," Arthur panted. "Me, first."

Freya reached them – worried for Merlin, relieved that Arthur had relented from his anger enough to help, worried again enough to try to help on Merlin's other side.

"I am, I really am," Merlin said mournfully. "Arthur, I –"

"Shut up," Arthur said again. It was unpleasant to sweat when it was cold outside, and the school was still a couple of soccer-fields away. "I can't breathe. And if you – apologize – one more time. I'll hit you again. You're damn heavy."

"And shouldn't have left my room," Freya scolded. Glanced at Arthur past Merlin's chest, as his head lolled a little lower – and turned pink. "Your room, I mean?"

And now they were close enough to hear Gaius say, with fond exasperation and concern, "Foolish boy. He shouldn't be out here."

Alice stepped in front of them to lift Merlin's head, and peer in his eyes, before nodding to Freya and then Arthur. "He just needs sleep."

"Let's take him to ours," Arthur suggested. "There's more that needs to be said, but it can wait."

"But the two of you are cool?" Freya said hopefully, nearly tripping as they began to move again toward the school. Merlin's head bobbed weakly, and his eyes were partially closed.

"Almost," Arthur said shortly. "Maybe."

"You see," Gaiuis said, taking a position behind them with Alice, "it was not such a bad idea, after all."

Alice made an impatient noise. Arthur caught Freya rolling her eyes. And grinned wryly at his shoes as sweat trickled over his hairline at his temple.

Crazy-amazing. He wondered if he was earning that description, too. Personal courage.

It beat the hell out of the boardroom for stimulation, at any rate.

…..*….. …..*….. …..*….. …..*….. …..*…..

Merlin slept the rest of that day, tucked into his bed in their shared room, unmoving except for his breathing. Freya said he seemed a lot more peaceful than he had the night before, and Arthur knew better than to tease.

Alice brought several protein shakes; midmorning she shook Merlin awake enough to swallow three-quarters of the first. So Arthur – or Freya, rather; she volunteered to be Merlin's resident nurse – would know how to do it for lunch and dinner.

 _Make him get up and pee_ , Alice said. Arthur lifted his hands in immediate protest – _Nooooo_ … Freya said, _All right, fine, I'll do it_.

And Arthur realized again, how much she truly loved Merlin.

They sat in either corner of the green vinyl short-couch, watching real estate show reruns all day. And chatted, not about the past and lost loved ones and mistakes, but about what it was like to fly. What it was like to live in the nation's capital and own hotels. What sort of houses they wanted to buy when they had families.

A handful of times Freya's phone chimed an alert to an incoming message, and she texted back with a smile on her face, explaining to Arthur, "Gaius."

Which prompted him to send messages of his own to his three friends. Grudgingly admitting, _Yes there was more to the story. And no, I haven't killed Merlin yet. Probably won't try again_.

Once a knock sounded on the door, and Arthur was surprised to find Mordred when he opened it.

"I thought students weren't supposed to be able to come down this wing," he said.

Mordred shrugged. "Not when Merlin is on duty, no. But Mr. Valiant…" He shrugged again, with a teen's resistance to too much communication. "We heard – about Merlin. He is all right?"

"He will be, Mordred, thanks," Freya said from the couch, and Arthur shifted to open the door further so they could see each other. "Even he can't escape the consequences of too-much or ill-advised magic. Where's Kara?"

"She went to her home, this month. She was… nervous? but said, it would be all right. Last time, maybe."

Arthur remembered Merlin had told him, Kara's relationship with her one remaining parent was less than ideal. Brave of her to go back and say goodbye – emotionally healthy, though. Lone Oak was a good influence… and Merlin maybe not the smallest part of that.

He ate lunch and dinner in the teachers' lounge, watching ESPN, and a few of the other boarding teachers wandered in and out – playing various table games, fixing their own meals and snacks.

"I heard Merlin tried something stupid with his magic," Cory Sigan said, fishing for the gossip.

Arthur shrugged, not taking his eyes from the screen, and said only, "Well, it worked."

At quarter-after-eleven, Freya returned to her own room. At quarter-til-midnight, Arthur decided to leave Merlin's desk-lamp on – immediately illuminating the stack of colorful problem-student files that Merlin sweated over, and the rest of the room dimly – and went to bed.

The frame creaked as he turned to find a comfortable position, and Merlin stirred. After a moment croaked out, "Arthur?" sounding lost and confused as a child. "What's – going on? What… day is it?"

Arthur sighed. Then swung his legs out of bed, retrieving a water bottle from the window ledge. Fumbled for Merlin's hand as his roommate struggled to sit up.

"Don't you remember what happened?" Arthur asked. After a pause of silence, he added, "You teleported from DC. You've been passed out all day – Alice and Freya were worried enough to pour protein shakes down your throat three separate times."

"That's why my mouth tastes like chocolate and chalk," Merlin said hoarsely. Sipped and swallowed and made a noise of relief. And then, in a different tone, "Arthur?"

"What?" Arthur let irritation creep into his voice; it was late, after all. And a hard day – after a long night last night.

"Oh. I wasn't sure… I mean I thought, I might have been dreaming…"

"Go back to sleep, Merlin," Arthur said. "We have things to do tomorrow. Things to talk about."

"But you'll be here?"

Arthur was glad it was dark. He was embarrassed of his reaction to that question and its tone. "Yeah. I'll be here."

"And you're not going to… kill me in my sleep?"

"Well, I wouldn't go _that_ far…" he said sarcastically. Merlin snickered, and Arthur's heart twisted with an emotion he couldn't define, in its complexity. "Good _night_ , Merlin."

"G'night."

…..*….. …..*….. …..*….. …..*….. …..*…..

In the morning, Arthur woke bleary-eyed to the sight of Merlin seated on the edge of his bed, fully dressed, clutching bare wrists and bouncing one knee. His eyes apprehensive above the bruise that embarrassed Arthur – and the feeling of embarrassment irritated him.

Arthur groaned and rolled over. "Do not watch me while I sleep. That's creepy."

"Sorry. I made breakfast. It won't get cold, but – I know how you like to sleep in." His tone wasn't sarcastic confidence in reciprocal banter, but tentative uncertainty.

"So go watch tv or something," Arthur grumbled.

No answer. He sighed, shoved his blankets out of his way, and put his feet on the floor. "Shall I just be angry, and act like an ass to you?"

"I'd deserve it," Merlin said in a low voice. A low, hopeful voice, with a low hopeful glance under the fall of black hair over his forehead.

"That's not the way…" Arthur hesitated to say, _friends treat each other_. Instead he ended more loftily, "Mature adults behave."

"Right," Merlin said. "Sure." And didn't tease Arthur's assertion that he _was_ a mature adult.

And hovered, as Arthur got ready. And hovered, as they worked their way through breakfast. Arthur hoped it would be less weird when Merlin had the security detail back again, and school was in session, and they were both too busy to be awkward.

"I still want you to come see the city," he declared to both of them. And to Merlin's dropped jaw, he added, "Maybe for spring break."

"Yeah. Yeah, that would be… good."

"I'm going back tomorrow, to stay through the end of the year," Arthur went on. A little time apart would do them good, too; raw emotions could begin to heal. After today. "But the boys are coming out here for New Year's. They can stay over at the Super-Eight, and –"

"They hate me," Merlin said softly to his empty plate.

"Leon and Percival are probably reserving judgment. Til they get to know you, til we make up our minds what we are and what we're going to be." Merlin shot him a glance too quick to read. "But Gwaine jerked a knot in my tail over the way I reacted that night. He was the voice of reason this time, oddly enough – so he's ready to be your friend whether you like it or not. That's kind of the way he makes friends. He annoyed the hell out of me in college – we lived across the hall from each other – til I gave up because it was too exhausting, and he declared victory and friendship."

"I'll have to take that under advisement," Merlin murmured. On the edge of humor. Close enough to see.

"Come on," Arthur said. "Are you done? Let's go."

…..*….. …..*….. …..*….. …..*….. …..*…..

"Where are we going?" Merlin asked, shifting in his seat to watch the _Salt and CulPepper_ slide past them. "The police station?"

"No… If you thought that's where I was taking you, why'd you get in the car?"

Merlin rubbed his bare wrist absently, sinking back in the seat. "Well, I thought… you'd want to talk about Gwen."

Arthur risked taking his eyes from the road to meet Merlin's – maybe a bit longer than was safe. "You should tell her," he said. "How her fiancé really died." He wasn't quite ready to threaten, _if you don't I will_ , but…

"I don't want to," Merlin admitted, hugging his arms over his chest with the stiff rustle of the camo-uniform material of his coat. "I thought about it – lots of times - but it wasn't just my secret. Gaius and Alice could have gotten into trouble and then the school would _really_ be in trouble… By the time I realized, Gwen was just… starting to find happiness in life again, I didn't want to – take her right back through all that, and… She and Freya were so close, I didn't want Freya in the middle if Gwen stayed mad – only now, I guess you'd be in the middle if I didn't, so –"

"Take a breath," Arthur advised. "I don't want you passing out in my front seat."

"I am better now," Merlin assured him in the tone of a protest.

And they passed the last buildings of town, before Arthur ventured, "Why did you do that? Teleport so far, if it was… dangerous?"

"To save on cab fare."

Arthur snorted wry amusement. Merlin straightened like he'd been jabbed, and sent Arthur a quick glance, as if checking whether Arthur was offended at a joke. But he didn't mind. He didn't want Merlin to act contrite forever, it would be too awkward and might actually hinder both of them getting past it. But it seemed likely that the younger man had ten years of unexpressed regret dammed up inside him.

"That's what you get for giving your paycheck right back to your employer," Arthur returned. "You're a grown man, and broke. That must be embarrassing."

Merlin huffed, but didn't answer back. And they drove another full minute before he said hesitantly, "I just thought… I only wanted… to go home. That night. Just to go _home_ – and then I was outside Freya's door."

"Hm," Arthur said, over the pang he felt, contemplating Merlin's state of mind after he'd ordered him out of the hotel. "You might not be as stupid as you look, after all."

"Is that a compliment?" Merlin asked, sounding shocked – but a hint of his normal cheer was showing.

"It is – but it's one for Freya, not you."

"I'll be sure to pass it on, then." Merlin was still smiling as he turned to watch the winter-ready terrain outside his window.

A smile which faded as soon as they passed the sign for the cemetery – and Arthur slowed and turned the corner.

"Oh," he said only.

And Arthur second-guessed himself; maybe he should have told Merlin where he wanted to go. "Are you up for this?" he said neutrally.

"Maybe." Apprehensive glance, and palms rubbed down jeans' legs. "I don't know."

"You can wait in the car if you want." Arthur shifted into park.

Turned off the engine but left the keys in the ignition. Got out and shut his door. And walked slowly over the year's dying grass.

No sound of the passenger car door.

The white rose, shriveled now and brown, still lay where he'd placed it months ago, and Arthur winced at the obvious symbolism of death. He sat on his heels, visually tracing _Morgana Dubois_.

"Did you laugh," he said aloud; his breath puffed white in front of his face and was gone in the next instant. "When I told you who I was making friends with? Did you throw a fit?"

No. There was still a sense of peace, there. Not frustration or turmoil. Maybe – a smirk. Maybe at his expense, for having been tricked by Gaius into befriending his sister's killer – to understand and forgive. Which he didn't blame Gaius for, anymore – he wouldn't have done so much for a stranger. But he didn't regret the time or effort spent, either.

"Did you hear, when Gwen asked me… did I imagine who you'd be, what you'd be doing, if you lived? But you had an idea, didn't you. Who you'd become. What you'd do."

Arthur had to believe, whatever Emie Morgause had told those children, Morgana had heard an ideal to strive for. And only stumbled in, _the ends justify the means_.

Which wasn't always black and white, Arthur had learned – from his father and from others, in business and in his personal life. Sometimes the ends did justify the means – depending on what the means were, illegal or immoral or hurtful, and to whom. It was more like, did the payout justify the risks, rather than _right_ and _wrong_.

Was Merlin justified in allowing Morgana to die. Were either of them justified in giving the teacher such power over them and their magic.

Did it matter, today. For the future. If the answer was no – were they then unforgivable.

No.

"You'd be proud of them, now. All of them. Taking me in and getting through my thick head. I'm sure I wasn't a model guinea pig…" He imagined Morgana drawling, _You're an adorable guinea pig, Arthur_. "But there will be more ordinary people at the school. And they'll all change the world one magical graduating class at a time."

He replayed what he'd just said in his own mind, and snorted self-derision at his impromptu speech.

"And, no. I wasn't class valedictorian, graduating college."

His calves ached a bit, and he bounced to his feet. He heard the car door shut, then, and Merlin's footsteps on road-gravel, then stiff-dead grass, and finished, even knowing he might be overheard.

"Anyway. I wanted you to know, I know the truth. You didn't choose death. But it was… very nearly… an accident. There was no malice, no plot against you, just… rock-and-a-hard-place choices made by somebody else. A casualty of war, maybe. And your sacrifice made peace possible…"

Merlin stepped next to him, eyes on the headstone. Shining with tears – two of which dropped, one after the other. He didn't give any indication, whether he'd heard Arthur's absolution, or not; Arthur resisted the urge to sling his arm over his friend's shoulders.

"She was…" One of Merlin's hands covered his ribs on the opposite side; the other rose to hide his eyes. "So beautiful. Every guy in the school wanted her to notice him. And she had no time for _boys_. And when she was nice to me, I knew it was because of the magic, but…"

Another regret. To hear that, Morgana had never been in love. He thought of Mordred and Kara, each with personal demons, each the other's strength in facing them. Arthur's throat was thick with the tragedy of what a young death meant for anyone – Gwen's Lancelot – and in the distraction of his thought he was a second late to notice Merlin had gone down on his knees.

Reaching for the old brown rose – which tipped and rolled as the petals stretched and straightened and freshened into magical perfection.

"I'm so sorry," Merlin said hoarsely. "Morgana. I'm so sorry I put those pills in the water, that was… so careless. I'm so sorry I let you drink that and didn't stop you. I'm so sorry… I didn't _save_ you."

For a moment, looking down on Merlin's bowed head, Arthur thought his friend referred to his self-proclaimed incapability to perform healing magic. Then he realized Merlin meant something more, something deeper… _from Morgause_. From whatever magic-binding the teacher had performed on them, to bring them to that little spot in the woods on Lone Oak's campus where Morgana had died, and Merlin almost.

"That's not on you, Merlin," he said, and his friend squinted up at him, close-mouthed like he was going to disagree. "Morgause had Morgana for three years before you even got here. And my sister had… very little respect for anyone male. Even less, for anyone younger. I don't believe there was anything you could have done to break Morgause's influence, by the time you met either of them. If anyone is to blame for that, it's… my father, maybe. Gaius, maybe? Even me."

Merlin shook his head immediately. "You didn't know."

"Neither did you." Arthur exhaled a cloud of ephemeral fog. "Alice told us, how hard you tried to warn someone – them – anyone."

Merlin shifted back on his heels, looking away to the distance past Morgana's gravestone. "We should never have sworn that oath. But she made it sound logical – generous and right, even. To share our magic with each other when it was needed."

"You still do that," Arthur said, stuffing his fists in his pockets as Merlin rose to his feet, knuckling excess moisture from his eyes. "You've been doing that ever since. Paying your debt, like you said?"

"It'll never be _enough_ ," Merlin said softly. "Not to pay for a life."

Arthur considered it doubtful that anyone would ever going to convince him otherwise, either. Then Merlin turned to him, and gave him a deliberate – genuine, brave – smile.

"I am glad it's all right with you that I stay at Lone Oak," he said. "Keep doing what I'm doing. I guess I didn't realize, there was always this fear that someone would find out, and then Gaius and Alice would be in trouble – and Lone Oak and _all_ the kids, without them."

"I am," Arthur told him, reluctantly honest, "not the only person who has a right to know the truth, who could bring a wrongful-death lawsuit."

Merlin's smile faded. "Gwen, you mean." Arthur nodded, and Merlin's arms crept to cross over his chest again. "Can we wait til next month?" he said. "I don't want to ruin her holiday…"

Arthur recognized the sort of excuse that had probably kept Merlin's silence, these years. "You could ask Freya to tell her…"

"No," Merlin said immediately. "No, that's not fair. I'll do it."

"After the first of the year," Arthur said. "I'll come with you, if you like. Moral support."

"Heaven knows I need that," Merlin sighed.


	19. Another's Forgiveness

**Chapter 19: Another's Forgiveness**

Back in DC for the rest of December, Arthur found it difficult to talk about his relationship with Merlin, to his other three friends. He told them as succinctly as possible, the extra details of the oath of silence and Merlin's near-death experience as the consequence of his choice.

But as for, _how are you then_ type questions… he was irritated, not to be able to say. Not, completely cool. But also not, _I'll kill him if I see him again_.

"It'll take time," Leon advised, and Arthur wanted to hit him.

Instead he walked past his personal assistant into the third board meeting of the week. Percival held the door open for him and – wisely – his own counsel, also.

Gwaine, being Gwaine, continued to provoke in complete disregard of Arthur's growled warnings. And then took great delight in childishly mentioning Merlin's name whenever he could. Imagining how the magic could affect or improve any given situation – real or hypothetical, big or small.

And in the Capital, big was BIG.

Otherwise, Arthur took comfort in focusing on Christmas in the Marriott. Lobby decorations and background music, extra details for guests' rooms, considerations for employees' extra-curricular responsibilities and activities. And it helped, right up to the point when he walked into the lobby lounge area and they were playing a rerun of Dickens' _Christmas Carol_ on the big-screen, as the electric fire flickered silently.

A story of holiday-inspired redemption. Forgiveness, and second chances.

Between that and Gwaine's what-if's, each more radical and horrific than the next, by the time they drove back to Culpeper on the 31st, Arthur found he was privately glad that Merlin's life mission and goal was to protect and guide the young of the magical community. With the sort of power he evidently had, he could make waves of tsunami-size, socially speaking, without half trying. Which would be good for nobody. Arthur supposed it would be a good thing if he could do his part to make sure Lone Oak's security officer was as settled, mentally and emotionally, as it was in his power to effect.

Gwaine and Percival had taken a separate vehicle – and a different route out of DC to Virginia. Leon rode with Arthur – and with encouragement, waxed less taciturn on his anticipation of picking up the Marriott's reins upon their return to the city.

It was cold, but clear, when they finally rolled down Culpeper's Main Street, to a parallel-parking space half a block from the café.

"This is nice, Arthur," Leon said, sounding surprised, as they slammed their doors simultaneously.

"Uh-huh." Arthur held his smile back, guessing that his friend had been picturing certain outskirts neighborhoods of DC, when he thought of Virginia country town.

But before he could tease Leon about jumping to conclusions – wince, still a personal lesson also – he noticed that the car Percival and Gwaine had taken, was already parked across the street. Crossing in front of his Chrysler, he hopped up the curb and yanked open the familiar – and missed – Kelly-green Dutch front door.

To see Percival, filling a cup at the soda fountain in the center of the room, glance up at the sound of the cowbell. "Hey, boss."

Arthur ignored him. Gwaine was leaning too casually against the counter by the register, wearing a grin that Arthur knew well, from every let's-go-for-drinks outing. Because Gwaine always picked at least one girl to try his luck with.

And Gwen was laughing. Full-throated, tipping her head back. She saw him, just as Gwaine turned, and her happy grin didn't slip one bit. Instead it _lit_.

"Have you come to claim this one?" she called, gesturing to Arthur's dark-haired friend.

"Not if I can help it." He relaxed, moving forward to allow Leon to close the door behind them.

"Oh, damn," Gwaine mourned. "I thought I'd have at least five more minutes to seduce her away from you."

The look on Gwen's face – sardonic sympathy – was enough to ease away the last of Arthur's mild case of jealousy. "Just be patient," she said in mock sympathy, leaning over the counter to pat Gwaine's arm. "The right one will come along."

"Until then, he'll keep pestering all the wrong ones," Percival concluded.

"Hey!" Gwaine said, grinning because to him, abuse was affection.

They crowded into Arthur's claimed booth, leaving Arthur lingering at the order counter to meet Gwen's soft lips and catch a whiff of her scent. "How's things?"

"Good. We're closing early tonight, though – you knew that? And that'll be the end of the busy season for us."

"Yeah, we knew – the boys'll stay at the Super 8 and we'll probably – drink beer and watch cage-fighting or something."

Gwen scoffed at his exaggeration of male-only pursuits; Arthur ducked to catch Elyan's eye through the order window, and lifted his hand in a wave. Maybe next time they'd see how Gwen's brother felt about joining them… Elyan's teeth gleamed white in an answering smile as he lifted a metal spatula in return salute.

"How about up at the school?" Arthur continued. He'd had a text from Merlin that the extra set of sheets he ordered had arrived – and an offer to break them in. Arthur had threatened him by return text, and Merlin had closed the brief exchange with a sad-face emoticon. Other than that, Arthur hadn't had any contact with anyone at Lone Oak for three weeks, now.

"Pretty quiet," Gwen answered, and he could tell that neither Merlin nor Freya had spoken to her about Merlin's aborted visit to DC, or Lancelot's death. "Merlin and Freya have been in. Together." Her tone and the twinkle in her smile did more than hint. "They're so cute. I bet you and me are best man and maid of honor sometime next year."

"Hm," Arthur said, giving her half a smile. "We'll see."

And Percival ate his way through three orders of loaded cheese fries, and Leon – at the first taste of the Mulligatawny stew – vowed that if Arthur didn't marry Gwen, he was going to.

"What would your girlfriend say about that?" Arthur drawled.

"I'll ask her," Gwaine volunteered – to the jeers of the other three.

And at that moment, Merlin appeared, standing beside Arthur's seat at the booth, a small smile on his face, hands in his jeans pockets. Which raised his shoulders a tentative inch toward his ears. Looking at each of Arthur's friends as though expecting to be met with stern suspicion – but still hopeful.

Still bravely presenting himself for acceptance or rejection. Hoping for one, but ready to receive the other without recrimination.

It occurred to Arthur – for the first time without a pang of loss or disloyalty – that Merlin was a better person than Morgana. That Merlin was a better person than _he_ was, too.

"Oh, Merlin," Leon said. Across from Arthur at the outside of the booth-bench, he was the second to notice Merlin – and he immediately offered his hand. "Glad to know you got home from the city all right."

"How was your holiday?" Percival added.

And Merlin could probably tell, as Arthur could, that both other men were _trying_ to make the meeting pleasant and smooth, after what had happened at Arthur's penthouse. But Merlin's smile grew – until Gwaine began pushing at Arthur.

"Let me out," he demanded. "Come on, move your fat ass, let me –"

Merlin stepped back warily as Arthur lifted himself out and away from the booth; Gwaine slid to his feet and seized Merlin in a bear hug.

"You saved my life," Gwaine said, his voice muffled somewhat. Merlin's eyes over his shoulder were wide with surprise; his hands lifted slowly and uncertainly to return an embrace he'd been unprepared for. "Whatever magic you did on Arthur's car – I'd be grill-kill without it. So _you_ –" he stepped back, keeping his hands on Merlin's shoulders – "and me, are brothers, now. Yeah?"

"In some Asian cultures," Leon noted, too casually, "saving a man's life means you're responsible for him, ever after."

"That has my vote," Percival said.

Merlin looked at each of them, and the doubtful amazement split into a wide grin. "Well," he said, gripping one of Gwaine's upper arms in return, "that mean I can show you around campus, then – family members and all."

"Wait a minute," Leon objected.

And Percival protested at the same time with his little-boy grin, "That's not fair!"

Gwaine appropriated a nearby chair, spinning it so Merlin could join them, and Gwen stretched over the counter to hand their young friend a covered Styrofoam cup. Arthur caught Freya's gaze from across the café; she stood holding Merlin's coat, ready to sit apart. She gave him a tremulous smile, and a nod of approval and gratitude.

"Nuh uh," Arthur said out loud, gesturing to her. "You don't get out of this that easily. Come on over here."

And Freya – crazy-amazing courage, these magic-users had – crossed the café to meet three strange ordinary men. Merlin reached to claim her hand to reassure her, and Gwaine complained, "No one's a bachelor, anymore."

"I still am," Percival said comfortably, reaching for a cheesy fry.

"Well, you're no one."

Freya perched on Merlin's lap on the extra chair, shyly incredulous of their rough banter. And sipped from Merlin's drink without either of them remarking on it – or even seeming to notice. Gwen came to lean against Arthur's other side, and he slipped his arm around her hips.

"When the weather gets nice," Gwen remarked, "we should all get together and eat outside, here – I think we could fit around one of those round tables."

"Even Elyan," Freya interjected.

"Except for Percival," Gwen added, pretending apology. "I'm sorry, I don't think you'd fit."

Percival gave her one of his sudden boyish smiles. "That's a compliment, my lady – it's all muscle."

Merlin murmured, "Yeah, that's what Arthur says, too…"

Gwaine actually hooted with laughter – and Freya at least was polite enough to hide her grin behind her hand. But in the midst of the hilarity, Arthur met Merlin's eyes. And he was able to meet the question there, _Are we good_? with a smirk and roll of his own.

 _Yeah… getting there_.

…..*….. …..*….. …..*….. …..*….. …..*…..

Gwen and Freya retreated to Gwen's apartment to watch sappy black-and-whites til midnight. Elyan went out somewhere else with his friends, and Arthur's attempted another hang-out session in one of the hotel rooms.

It went much better than the last. And much better than Arthur had any right to expect. Wrestling on pay-per-view and cheap beer – and they argued the finer points of the matches, when their experience with bare-fist fighting could be counted on the fingers of one fist, cumulatively. They made an unholy mess of the room without actually damaging anything – and Merlin cleared it all to one oversize trash bag with a single gesture as he and Arthur walked out.

Freya drove them back to the school – nervous and five miles under any speed limit anywhere, since she was barely licensed. And Arthur interrupted their lengthy past-midnight kiss at her door, to drag his definitely-inebriated – endearingly and poignantly affectionate - roommate back upstairs to pass out on his ketchup-and-mustard bedspread.

"Y're a prince 'mong friends, Arthur," Merlin said, snuggling contentedly into his pillow. And before Arthur had a chance to react or respond, he let out a ridiculously pig-like snore, fast asleep.

If Arthur still regretted what his sister's life had been – he had her to thank for how full and rewarding his own life had become.

The next morning, Merlin was gone when Arthur woke, the plaid bedspread smoothed – and Arthur turned right back over, smiling because even though very little was _right_ with the world – there was a lot that was _good_ , here.

Arthur avoided the hustle and bustle of the students' arrival for the second semester of the school year, and classes started up on the Wednesday following New Year's Day. The fact that the freshmen had settled considerably was obvious. Merlin was nowhere near as busy – or at as odd of hours – as he had been at the beginning of the fall semester.

But he also, wasn't busy enough to keep himself from worrying about the upcoming conversation with Gwen. And this time, Arthur knew what was weighing on his friend's mind; it was odd watching Merlin go through the same tension and stress with new insight.

Gwen had taken Friday afternoon and evening off work at the café, with the tentative suggestion that she and Freya would cook dinner for the four of them in her apartment over the café – which Freya agreed to only generally. Probably wondering what they were all going to feel like doing, after Merlin's second confession.

Arthur wondered, himself.

And told Merlin – a track stuck on repeat – " _Calm down_. Even if she's mad to begin with, she won't stay mad. I'm not anymore – and she's a much better person than I am."

"Yeah," Merlin agreed – too distracted to notice and maximize on the tacit insult he was giving Arthur. "But she's also, a much older friend than you… I'm more worried that she'll be _hurt_ , than mad."

"It'll be all right," Freya said quietly from the back seat. Offering no comfort but that of her presence and calm – which probably worked better than any more obvious petting or soothing. Then again, she had been friends with Merlin for ten years; she probably knew him inside and out.

He wondered if he'd ever know Gwen that well. If she'd know him that well – and if she'd still love him anyway.

She met them at the top of the metal alley staircase with a smile so wide and bright he cringed to think of causing its retreat. Sympathizing with Merlin's perpetual procrastination, he glanced over his shoulder – but Merlin's eyes were on his feet, coming up the stairway last.

Well, at least he hadn't turned tail and… disappeared, himself.

"Come on in," Gwen said. "I've got some enormous potatoes starting to bake in the oven, and lots of fixings – sour cream, green onions, cheese, bacon. Two for you guys if you're really hungry. Some Mike's lemonade, since it's not really dinnertime yet…"

The last one in, Merlin closed the door behind them. And leaned against it as Arthur and Freya toed their way out of their shoes.

"Gwen, can I talk to you? For a bit?" he said quietly.

She tossed their three coats over the far arm of the couch, turning back to him expectantly. "Sure, what is it?" Shadow of concern, as she took her first good look at him of the afternoon. "Aren't you feeling well? You didn't have to come if –"

"Yeah," Merlin interrupted. "Yeah, I kinda did." He moved to join her by the couch, catching her wrist to pull her down beside him – perching tensely on the edge of the cushions, himself.

Gwen resisted slightly, glancing up at Freya, who said immediately, "We'll get the drinks, and I'll set out the salad. Come on, Arthur."

He followed her – carrying a bowl with a lid on – into the kitchen corner, knowing that Merlin and Gwen needed and deserved privacy, yet feeling that he wanted to be supportive for one or both of them. What would he do, though, if Gwen chose to be and remain furious with his roommate?

That was a bit ironic, he allowed, seeing as he'd only just got over his own furious – imperfect – reaction.

Arthur reached to uncap two of the frosty-yellow bottles of hard lemonade, resting his hips against the island to face Freya in the corner. She took a swallow from her own bottle, leaning to look past his shoulder at the other two.

"If I could do this for him, I would," she said quietly to him.

He resisted the urge to turn and watch also, to guess what Merlin was saying by the look on his face – or the changes in Gwen's expression. "They say confession is good for the soul."

Freya gave him a look that was unimpressed by the sentiment. "When he told you, were you more angry that it happened at all, or that he hadn't told you the truth the moment he realized who you were?"

Arthur remembered that moment, in their room with the yearbook photos of his sister. "I think he was too shocked to even consider coming clean," he realized. "And then he avoided me…"

"I think he decided to tell you," Freya commented, "the day he saved your life out at the park. Maybe it was the first time he believed your friendship could survive what he had to say."

Arthur hummed thoughtfully. He did not appreciate Merlin's reasons for waiting – til the semester was over, and both of them well away from Lone Oak – but he did understand. The question was, would Gwen?

"Uh-oh," Freya said inexplicably, and then Arthur couldn't stop himself turning.

Gwen was on her feet, one hand covering her mouth. Two tears slipping down her round cheeks. Merlin braced himself on the edge of the couch like he would rise, but she put out her other hand as if to hold him down, hold him back.

Arthur saw, rather than heard him say, _Gwen. I'm so sorry_ …

She shook her head – and rushed past the kitchen, down the hall to her bedroom. And the door shut firmly. Merlin leaned his forearms on his knees, gazing blindly down at the rug – then dropped his head into his hands.

Arthur looked at Freya. She pressed her lips together to convey her unhappiness, set her bottle down beside a quartet of cheerfully-colored condiment bowls, and padded soundlessly out of sight down the hall. Where Gwen's bedroom door opened – and closed softly behind her.

He exhaled – swallowed three more mouthfuls, and made his way reluctantly to the couch, where he perched on the mound of their coats over the far arm. After a moment of _what-the-hell-am_ -I _-supposed-to-do_ , he extended his bottle into Merlin's peripheral vision. His friend declined with a single shake of his head.

Remembering Freya's just-be-yourself, solid-ground-not-sympathy advice from Halloween night, Arthur said, "Good. This is mine, anyway."

Merlin huffed, and rubbed his face before looking blindly forward, hands clasped below his chin. "Did she ever tell you, how it was for her? Her dad took her down the campground, the morning after. Before they _knew_."

"She told me," Arthur said, sobering. "A memory she'd be happy to forget, I bet."

"Yeah," Merlin said huskily. "And I thought my memories of that night were bad."

Arthur grunted. Effective necromantic ritual in a graveyard on Halloween. Yeah, he'd give that one a pass, too. No wonder his roommate still had nightmares – and from what had happened a week later, too.

"How much did you tell her?" he asked.

"Too much. Not enough."

Something occurred to Arthur, something Merlin had said – no, something Gaius had said about Merlin. "The way I understand it, none of the other kids remembered that night?"

"No." Merlin leaned slowly back on the couch cushions, his fingertips prodding absently at his chest. "Your sister –" quick glance, set jaw, eyes down again – "was unconscious for most of it. I don't know what she woke up thinking, back in her own bed in the morning. Morgause had – my magic, but everyone else's too, that night – everyone teleported right back where we were two hours earlier, with a glamor that shifted anyone else's attention away from our sudden reappearance. And the memory modification."

"As if those two hours never happened?" Arthur said.

Merlin nodded.

"Have you ever done that sort of spell?" he added, and then Merlin looked at him. He felt one corner of his mouth twist wryly. "Why didn't you do something like that on me? When I found out about Morgause – and you found out about me?"

Merlin took a deep breath and let it out. "You never finished reading your handbook, did you?" he said quietly, his eyes down. "That's unethical magic. Done on someone without their permission, taking something they can't get back – and aren't even aware is gone."

"Unethical, hm?" Arthur said.

Merlin flushed – unhappily, though that hadn't been Arthur's intent. "It doesn't work on oneself," he went on, still softly. "So I would still remember, and know who you were… That way, though, neither of us could have worked through the implications of the truth. Which is – don't tell Gaius I said so – probably good. And healthy. In the long run."

"Even if I'd gone for Gwaine's concealed, that night?" Arthur said, curious.

Merlin made a face at him. "I'd never let you become a killer, even if that's what you thought you wanted."

"I didn't," Arthur told him. "Even when I threatened you. I might've _hit_ you several more times…"

"I kind of wish," Merlin said wistfully, "that Gwen would do that. Instead of crying."

"Feels worse than a punch in the gut, doesn't it," Arthur agreed.

The sound of the door drew their attention to the hallway – and Merlin to his feet. Gwen led Freya – who stopped at the corner of the kitchen – and her face was set expressionless, though her eyes were slightly reddened. There was something in her hand that she held out toward Merlin; Arthur leaned forward to see a tiny silver glitter.

"Is that why –" Gwen was keeping her voice even with an effort, Arthur could tell – "you gave me this?"

Arthur pushed to his feet and stepped forward; it was the daisy mood-ring Gwen habitually wore on her small finger. Protective charms, she'd said. Merlin's eyes were on it; he didn't answer.

"That was so long ago, I can barely remember," Gwen added. Almost accusingly. "At the time, I thought – maybe it was because we'd –" she clutched the ring in her fist for a moment, trying to express herself – "had a fight, a disagreement, something… We'd been talking, and you were upset and walked out. So when you gave this to me, I had the impression it was a – making-up thing, between friends. But, it was when I told you, wasn't it. The first time I told you about Lancelot."

Merlin nodded; there was a tight, desperate look at the corners of his eyes that Arthur recognized. "Halloween. I… failed to… stop it happening. I wanted… I thought – he would've kept you safe, been your protection, but he was gone and it was my fault and it wasn't much but I wanted to do something to make sure you weren't hurt again –"

Without warning Gwen moved forward, lifting on her toes to throw her arms around Merlin's neck, pulling him down a little from his greater height, holding him close.

And it took a moment for him to process the significance of her action; he went on in the same tone, "So please keep it, please wear it –"

"Merlin," Gwen said, her voice wavering with freshly threatening tears. "Hush. I hate to think of you carrying such a terrible secret all this time, but…" She stepped back, but kept her hands linked behind his neck. "I thought, all this time, that they'd been murdered by a serial killer, who escaped and was never caught. And maybe killed other people, in other places –"

"Well, Morgause –" Merlin began, but Gwen gave him a peremptory shake to interrupt.

"You can't imagine what peace it gives me. To have this closure. It was more horrible than I thought, what happened – and I hate that you had a part in it…" She shook him again as if that would clear his expression. "For your own sake, you silly ass. That woman – that _witch_ – should never have used children, so. And you shouldn't feel guilty, either – I know it's useless to tell you that. But it's also true."

Merlin nodded, swallowing and blinking against his own tears. And tentatively lifted his arms to put around her ribs, drawing her close again. Arthur heard him repeat roughly, "I'm sorry."

"I know," Gwen whispered back. "I'm glad you told me. But Merlin – don't tell anyone else. Not any of those boys' families. Not Elyan." He drew back to give her a questioning look, and she added, "It isn't necessary. I forgive you for all of them."

Merlin's voice broke. "Really?"

It took her a moment, but when she spoke, it was firm and sure. "Really."

"There's more," Merlin said as she disengaged from him, stepping back to fit the ring on her pinkie finger again. He glanced at Arthur. "A week later. At the armory. When Morgause died, and her skeleton soldiers returned to being only… bones."

"I'm not sure I want to…" Gwen began, the wrinkle of a frown between her brows.

Arthur said, "Merlin stopped her. He and Morgana stopped her magic. She died – but so did Morgana. And Merlin himself, almost. If Alice hadn't found him in time to save his life."

Gwen's reaction was again, wide eyes and covered mouth. Merlin said to Arthur in dismay, "It wasn't like that, it was –"

"No, don't," Gwen blurted, reaching as if to stop his speech with her two hands. "I don't – want to know any more than that. No more details, please. It's enough, and… for my part, I don't think we need to talk about this, anymore. I'm just glad to know it's _over_."

Merlin looked pleadingly at Arthur, who quirked an eyebrow sternly. If he'd given Morgana more credit than she deserved, and Merlin less blame than he deserved – wasn't that Arthur's right, to define the story of that night in his own terms?

"The potatoes are done," Freya announced from the kitchen.

Gwen gave a laugh that sounded like it was nearly a sob, turning to move for the kitchen.

"I don't think I can eat," Merlin said, to no one in particular.

He joined them at the kitchen island eating area anyway. The girls kept up a good – steady, comforting – stream of innocent gossip about various townspeople, known to Freya through Gwen, apparently. Twice Gwen reached to squeeze Merlin's hand beside his plate, and by the time the cheese and sour cream melted together in the mealy center of Arthur's second potato, Merlin was swallowing slow half-bites of his first.

Dishes done and drinks finished, Arthur excused all three of them with a _Well, we need to_ … Merlin bent to whisper in Gwen's ear, something that brought tears to her eyes – but she reached up to pet the shaggy black hair on the back of his neck, and nodded.

As Merlin and Freya went to put on shoes and coats, Arthur folded Gwen tightly in his arms and held her. "You're an amazing woman, you know that," he murmured. "I'm so proud to know you."

 _You don't even know this, but you make me a better man_.

Her breath caught as if she couldn't quite laugh. "Are you all right?" she returned. "You spent all that time looking for someone who knew the answers – and he was right there."

"Yeah." Arthur cleared his throat, glancing over at Merlin helping Freya into her coat, moving her hair from the collar as she smiled her thanks over her shoulder. "It was hard – it still is – but I'm glad he told me."

"Good night," Gwen said, lifting herself on her toes and pressing her body to him to give him a sweet, lingering kiss.

Was it the epitome of arrogance to wonder if he'd had any part in helping Gwen to leave the tragedy of the past behind. Or was it an example of humility to decide, for once and for all, to do exactly that, himself.

Gwen closed the door and he descended the metal staircase; light playful snowflakes descended through the air also. He heard the tail end of Merlin's comment to Freya, as they both waited for him at the bottom of the stair. "… Really appreciate it."

"Well, she's my friend, too," Freya answered, glancing up to tacitly include Arthur. His foot hit concrete, and they all moved for the Chrysler parked at the curb. "I didn't actually say anything, though. Mostly she cried and said, _I can't believe it_."

Merlin hunched his shoulders inside his father's old Army jacket, as Arthur stepped past him off the curb, rounding to the driver's side – and she saw.

"No, not like that." She moved to hold Merlin's front passenger door shut, and Arthur paused in the space between the driver's seat and his own open door. "She couldn't believe that teacher would do something like that. Or that you would feel like you had to carry the burden of the secret alone."

"Not alone anymore," Arthur said.

Merlin looked at him – then at Freya – and crooked his elbow around her neck to draw her close. "I don't deserve you, either of you."

Arthur made a rude noise. "If people always got what they deserved, it would be a miserable world. You think I deserve any of this?" He gestured to his car – including them – and finished with a flourish toward the café. "Or her? Any one of my friends in DC? If we would be forgiven, then we must be willing to forgive."

Aglain had also said, _We are not always the men we would be; often, we are the men we would rather we were not_ … And that was true, as well. Arthur wondered whether the dark-skinned druid might be able to glimpse the future.

Freya giggled like she recognized the sentiment. And Merlin's brows were up. "You know, if you want to room with Aglain –"

"Shut up," Arthur told him. "Get in. Let's go home."

 **A/N: A shorter chapter, this one. But the next is the epilogue… and then that's all, folks!**


	20. As Time Goes By

**Chapter 20: As Time Goes By…**

 _(nearly a year after Morgause's Halloween massacre)_

 _Freya rode the highest air currents. Ever-rising warm and pervasive chill buffeting her with the constant reminder of danger, holding attention of an intuitive sort, that allowed her other thoughts free._

 _She was young, and she was experienced. An orphan and a goddess. Wild and lonely, dangerous and cautious. Mostly she kept to this form – it was always hide and steal and flee, but safer in this form. And the thought processes were more basic and instinctive, the emotions muted to those suited to survival._

 _And then, of a sudden, it happened._

 _A palpable sensation of_ joy-power-purpose-home _shot straight through her. Her wings tilted and she lost altitude, but banked to return, seeking the sensation again – and finding it._

 _She peered down at the dark landscape beneath, feeling the sensation as a beam, with a point of origin. Gliding lower, she studied the patch of roofs and dimly-lit streets of a small town – but veered to the southeast. The call she felt came from somewhere else, only a mile or so away._

 _Another cluster of roofs – smaller, compact, and uniform. It was too big for a private estate, but it felt too small and cozy for an industrial complex. There was a single spark of light, separate from the others, and that was where she headed; that was what she was drawn to._

 _There were two humans present, with the light. Male, her senses warned her – but also magic. She tilted her wings and circled them, just above the sphere of radiance. Neither did anything, and it came to her that they were waiting for her, somehow._

 _So she tucked wing to drop through the air to the ground, back-beating several times to land without crashing heavily. She clawed the earth and grass for balance as the sensation of her own weight descended on her – regretted it – decided to stay._

 _And tucked her wings along her sides before prowling carefully forward._

 _Two males, but one was elderly, and the other just a boy. The man wore his white hair in a long straight tail down the back of a neat gray suit, tailored to his shape and weight, buttoned over a generous waistline. The unique thing about him was that his scent lacked fear completely. He did smell of surprise – though the boy didn't._

 _Neither did he smell of fear, though something about him alerted her to watchfulness. He wore jeans and an oversize camo jacket, ears poking out of straight black hair that grew long and uncombed over his ears and neck and forehead._

 _The boy looked at the old man and said, quite calmly, "I told you someone was coming."_

 _"Yes," the old man said neutrally, still studying her. After a moment he lifted his voice slightly to address her. "Welcome to Lone Oak Academy for gifted youth. I am Dr. Gaius, the headmaster. Can you speak while in that form? or can you transform to a human shape at will? which would make conversation more comfortable."_

For you _, she thought. She wasn't at all sure she should linger, having satisfied her curiosity about the beam she'd felt in the sky. Except – was her curiosity satisfied? And where else had she to go?_

 _Wild, but… lonely._

 _The man took two steps forward and she felt her hackles rise. Twitching to prowl sideways, she dropped her head and body lower to the ground. He stopped, again surprised but not afraid; she turned at the edge of light and paced back, wanting but fearing._

 _The boy slipped past his older companion and came to her, so swiftly and naturally she didn't even feel the need to flee. She sensed his power, and the animal nature that was prevalent just now wanted to cringe, anticipating that power used to trap and ensnare and subjugate._

 _But, it was comfortably contained in its unlikely vessel, as if the boy felt no need or goad to use it, just for the sake of using it. His magic felt composed and quiescent within him, as she looked in his eyes and he crouched down before her to bring himself to her level. She dropped another inch and drew back, but kept her paws planted, wary but – curious._

 _He held out his hand._

 _Not as small children do with a strange dog, immediately trying to pet and touch, but as an offering of identity. Intimacy, and vulnerability, which she could take, or reject._

 _She looked in his eyes another long moment and wondered if it was the light on the post that had drawn her, after all. She was curious about him, but uncertain what continuing or increasing familiarity would mean. Her life, such as it was, at least was comfortably known. If she risked people again, even her kind of people…_

 _He smiled._

 _And she extended her head, slowly approaching his fingers, to sniff and whuffle and test with her whiskers. His intentions were friendly, the magic and courage she knew already, and there was also – intelligence. Intuition. Brilliance. But she could also tell that he was_ troubled _, as she'd rarely known anyone to be. Other than herself._

 _Everybody had worries and fears and regrets, many had experienced loss, but this boy – young as he was, the darkness inside was deep and serious and scary._

 _It made her want to crowd closer to him and nuzzle him warm and lick him til he laughed, knock him over and tumble him down the hill til he let go and frolicked, opened to the sun that would banish the shadows in his soul._

 _Without thinking, she put out her tongue and flattened the tip of it to his palm, tasting him._

 _Her action connected them irrevocably. She knew that, in that moment, and chose it even as it happened to them both, and even if he didn't realize, it was all right._

 _She withdrew and turned slightly, closing her eyes and digging her claws into the ground in preparation for the process that wasn't lengthy, but painful while it happened. Growl became cry and the night air hit her bare skin as if she'd just been flayed and bathed in acid. She trembled, huddling over her knees, trying to squeeze the tears away from her eyes and absorb the residual surface ache of her body so they wouldn't see it on her face._

 _The boy stood, and a moment later she shuddered under the weight and harsh material of his jacket as he draped it over her._

 _But then she was able to rock her weight back onto her folded legs and clutch the camouflage fabric, watching as he crossed the lawn. He wore a light blue long-sleeve t-shirt; his bones seemed more dominant than his muscles, somehow, but there was a certain lack of self-consciousness that made him beautiful. He paused in passing the old man - who lifted his hand to grip the boy's shoulder in a way that made her think, the old man knew about the young one's darkness_

 _"Well done," he said to the boy._

 _Who pulled away without speaking - and left the hill._

 _One last shudder, and she was able to persuade shaky legs to stand and hold her weight. Her shoulders held the boy's jacket in place as she shoved her arms through, and pushed the fabric together to hold it closed in front. The jacket had been too big on the boy; it covered her to mid-thigh quite comfortably, as she stumbled over grass now prickly on her bare soles._

 _But it held his scent, also, and that calmed her._

 _The old man's expression included surprise as he faced her. "You are so young. What's your name, child? Where are you from, and why away from your family?"_

 _"I have no family, they died in a hurricane at New Haven years ago," she answered. And mostly she was over the irony of the name of the hometown she no longer claimed her own. Like she was over the nightmares of that storm, and the unexpected physical change that allowed her escape. Mostly. "I ran away – I mean, I flew away… my name's Freya."_

 _"Well, Freya," the old man said, placing a gentle hand on her shoulder. "If you wish it and it works out, this can be your home."_

 _"Forever?" she said, surprising even herself._

 _Never before, since she'd been on her own or in the form of Bas, had she felt the complete absence of restlessness. How much might be due to the boy whose name she didn't even know, she had yet to find out…_

 _Dr. Gaius gave her a genuinely kindly smile. "We shall see," he promised._

…..*….. …..*….. …..*….. …..*….. …..*…..

When Arthur let himself into the living area of their shared room – shared for a few more hours, at least – Merlin was standing motionless before the mirror, half out of sight through the doorway on the left. Not fully dressed, Arthur noted his dress jacket slung over the back of the rocker/recliner, despite the time, and not hurrying. Not even moving.

He came up behind his roommate – well, ex-roommate, effective today – to see that the untied ends of the bowtie hung over Merlin's shoulders. Not the object of his delay, though; the younger man's gaze was lower on his shirtfront, where his fingers pressed the crisp material of the formal garment to his middle.

In an odd pattern, finger-thumb-finger. That Arthur knew immediately, though he had never seen the scars.

"Gwaine is waiting for us outside the gym," Arthur commented, startling Merlin as he came up behind him. "If a drop of liquid courage is what you need."

Merlin didn't say anything, as Arthur reached over his shoulders to claim and bend and fold the ends of the bow-tie, to match the one he was wearing.

"My father taught me this," Arthur went on, to fill the silence comfortably, "when I was… ten years old. First formal business dinner. I looked like a… baby penguin."

Ghost of a smile skated across the mirror's surface. "I bet you were adorable."

"Watch it." Arthur tugged the bowtie warningly, and the smile lingered a split second longer. "I had to remember the names of a dozen of his associates – which I did – and excused myself from dessert to throw up the first four courses in the men's room."

"That's encouraging," Merlin murmured.

Eyes and fingertips still on his lower chest, his stomach where the cummerbund hugged his waist, and as Arthur fixed Merlin's collar button and lapels, he could see his friend's brave, stupid, noble thought.

"Hey," he said, leaning sideways on the sink. "She chose you and she loves you and she wants you. And you're damn lucky for it. So you go out there and make her the happiest woman in the world, the rest of your life, hear me?"

Merlin tried to frown – tried not to smile – failed and sighed and gave him a reluctant grin. "You sure we can't cure her of insanity?"

"Not even a little bit," Arthur said, moving to lift the black dress jacket from the back of the recliner, and holding it open for Merlin's long arms. "And your mother is in the hallway."

Merlin quit fiddling with the cuffs. "My mother?"

He took off through the living space; Arthur paused a moment to check his own tie and dove-silk cummerbund in the mirror. The inside pocket with the ring for Freya – and the other one. One last look round the room – one last box on Merlin's desk to be reclaimed sometime before the spring semester of school – and Arthur would have his coveted, unwelcome privacy. For a while.

Merlin had left the door of their room open, and Arthur heard a female voice as he approached. "…So proud of you."

"Yeah," Merlin said huskily. "I wish he was here, too."

Arthur with his story about learning to tie a bowtie, guessed who Merlin and his widowed mother were thinking of. He eased unobtrusively through the doorway, closing the door behind him as Hunith – a plain-featured woman whose inner-mother-light made her radiantly beautiful – leaned back from embracing her tall son, cupping his face in her hands.

"Today you're giving me something your father never did," she told him, through a teary-eyed smile.

"What's that?" Merlin said.

Evidently Hunith was the source of Merlin's smile, and sense of humor. "A daughter."

Merlin huffed a chuckle, and allowed his mother to pull him down and kiss his forehead. Turning to tuck a hand under Arthur's elbow, she kept hold of Merlin's to walk between, escorted by both.

"Let's not keep her waiting," she added.

Down the hall, out the door – Arthur expected the biting wind of Virginia December, but the skirt of Hunith's long-sleeved mint-green dress was not so much as touched; the warm inside air clung around them as they crossed to the classroom building. Arthur caught the golden gleam of magic performed casually in Merlin's eyes, but Hunith didn't even pause in relating some story from Freya's visit to their hometown the past summer, and Merlin nodded as if he hadn't been there the whole time, himself.

"And she was so nice about the garden, even helped me pick the last of the yellow beans…"

Arthur couldn't help but wonder - pressing the hidden black velvet box to his ribs with his elbow – what Ygraine would have made of Gwen.

Speaking of… They reached the top of the stair, turned down the hall to the gym, and Arthur totally ignored both Dr. Gaius and Gwaine, dressed the same as Arthur and Merlin, the new security officer upending a discreet silver flask to his lips because –

Gwen. Turning to them from scolding Gwaine, like a cloud dissipating before the sun. Silk dress a shade more lavender than the men's cummerbunds, a strapless sheath with a slit to her knee at one side, extra material gathered and draped coyly and effectively at the small of her back and the center of her bosom. Black curls left tumbling over one bare shoulder and down her back, pinned up at the other side with a shy flower. Green toenail polish showing below a crystal-flecked sandal strap, the heels of which lifted her closer to Arthur's height. In one hand she held a spill of ivy and small white flowers with five petals like stars.

"…Thur. _Arthur_."

Merlin snapped his fingers in front of Arthur's face and he startled, glancing from Gwen's gaze-dropping blush to Merlin's knowing grin. And if Arthur's embarrassment was what it took to put that expression there – well, just this once.

"You've got the ring?" Gaius demanded of Arthur. "Yes? Good."

Gwaine added irreverently to Merlin, " 'Port your magical butt up to the altar so Aglain will quit trying to use telepathy on me."

"Escort your mother to her place," Gaius corrected, with a warning glance to the tall rascal Arthur had wondered more than once, if he was going to regret hiring. If Gwaine and Merlin hadn't gotten on so well, he thought the old man might've fired Gwaine after their first meeting as quickly as he'd agreed to put another ordinary on Lone Oak's payroll. "Arthur and Gwen, you're to wait til Hunith is seated, and Merlin stood in place -"

"Then saunter your sickeningly sweet selves down the aisle," Gwaine interrupted, giving his careless-devil grin. Because irritating his employer was a contact sport, for him. "Then, if Gaius hasn't managed to talk her out of it – and if she won't elope with me –" He flinched as both Gaius and Merlin raised warning hands. "Ouch. All right. Ready, boys and girls? Take a deep breath, and…"

He yanked open the double doors of the gym – suddenly seeming twice its normal size.

 _Packed_ with people, up and down folding chairs in rows on both sides, leaving only the center aisle open. Merlin stepped out, leading his mother to her seat of honor saved in the front row, and Gwen pulled Arthur to the doorway in preparation.

"Geez," he said under his breath, watching the audience react to Merlin's appearance with varied excitement and delight. "I thought… well, I thought…"

"Alumni," Gwen said quietly. "From the past four years. And this year's students. Some of the townspeople who dared to come. Merlin has touched a lot of lives, Arthur."

"Yeah," he said, inadequately.

And she prompted him to lead – their turn now, he hadn't noticed – he turned his attention past the people, and could hardly keep himself from gaping.

If he didn't know it was a gym… he wouldn't know it was a gym. The walls and ceiling looked like the inside of a stone cathedral, vaulted and shadow-smooth. The floor carpeted in a mottled green-and-brown that looked like natural ground – though clean, obviously. And not soft or deep enough to pose a problem for delicate feminine footwear; beside him Gwen was steady and confident. She gave him a shy glance and smile and he turned his attention with an effort to the front of the room.

Aglain – _yes I'm certified by the state of Virginia to perform legal marriages_ – stood solemn and satisfied in his brown druid's robe in the center of an archway knit of branches. Two apple trees in full blossom, evidently – and damn realistic, too. Arthur decided he'd have to find Mordred and Kara, after, and recommend they go into the decorating business. Merlin now waited beside the druid, fidgeting pale and nervous, looking past them and rubbing absently at his wrists – bare of the charms, Arthur knew; Gwaine wore them tonight and for the next two weeks.

When they reached him they parted, Arthur giving Gwen's round cheek a kiss to promise eventual reunion, and took his place beside and behind Merlin. "Quit twitching," he advised his friend, leaning close. "Try to look happy, everyone's watching…"

No, they weren't either.

The music – courtesy of one of Alice's prodigies, sans sound system or live musicians – shifted, charging the audience with anticipation and bringing them to their feet. Announcing, in a subtle melodic way, the lady of the hour. And no one was paying any attention to Merlin, anymore. Freya, on the arm of Gaius in his own stately tux, had paused just inside the gym's double doors.

"Oh," Merlin breathed.

Fitted bodice and full skirt sparkling muted points of light, sleeveless but for a soft drape of sheer white fabric over the curve of her shoulders. Her hair done as Gwen's was, curls down one shoulder and the filmy veil behind. She was gorgeous, and Arthur was proud and glad.

But she was also, not moving. She was also, not paying any attention to Merlin – even at the distance, Arthur could see that her eyes were darting around the crowd – and Gaius' gentle, unobtrusive attempts at encouragement weren't working. Lots of people, Arthur knew, were not Freya's thing; she handled her classroom admirably, but also despised limelight of any shade.

Merlin took half a step toward the center aisle, his nerves seeming to dissolve at the evidence of his bride's trepidation. He whispered, "Freya."

And she looked straight at him, as if he'd spoken aloud, and they were alone. He offered his hand, and smiled; Arthur could see it even in profile, and breathed easy himself, knowing that now she would –

Float to Merlin down the aisle, glowing with shy happiness and youthful beauty, perfectly offset by the old gentleman who escorted her.

They two reached the front of the room, and Gaius – _who gives this woman? Her mother and I do_ – kissed her cheek. Then, instead of joining Alice across the aisle from Merlin's mother – who already had a tissue dabbing carefully at eye makeup – Gaius reached for Merlin.

One hand around the back of his neck, to draw the young man's forehead down to his own. Briefly, but Arthur glimpsed what relief this symbolic day must bring to the old headmaster. Thousands of young lives he'd known in passing – these two both touched by tragedy, yet proving indomitable hope and strength and goodness.

"Dearly beloved," Aglain began. "We are gathered here today to witness the union of this man and this woman in marriage by the solemn rite of handfasting."

 _Wait, what?_

Arthur shifted, the rest of Aglain's speech about speaking now or forever holding peace muted to background hum. As Merlin shoved the left sleeve of his expensive tux jacket up to his elbow, and Freya – no bridal bouquet, Arthur realized, serves him right for zoning out when she and Gwen were talking wedding plans – unbuttoned the cuff of his white dress shirt, rolling that up as well.

He looked past Freya at Gwen hoping she could explain by look or expression – but she was stepping forward as if nothing was wrong, handing her bouquet of ivy and white star flowers to _Aglain_ , of all people.

Hells. He really should have paid more attention in rehearsal yesterday.

"…Symbolizing an organic unity, a balance of two and one, growing together without competition, but in mutual support and affection, each tending the other's needs as if they were your own. Grafted into one life and bearing, in due time, the fruit of your love for each other."

Arthur couldn't help blushing. Freya was blushing, Gwen was blushing – Arthur couldn't see Merlin's face, but his ears were red. He held Freya's gaze, though, through her shy downward glance, and back up.

The fingers of her left hand wrapped gracefully around Merlin's knobby wrist – his long fingers covering half her forearm. Aglain laid the trail of blossoms and leaves Gwen had carried, over their joined hands; his eyes gleamed gold magic, and the live greenery looped and circled, literally binding them, dripping white stars off her elbow, crawling vines up his shoulder. Freya's lips parted on a happy smile, and her timidity seemed to melt toward confidence.

"I, Merlin Emrys, do take thee, Freya Lacosta, to my lawful and beloved wedded wife. To have and to hold, to love and cherish, from this time forth until forevermore."

Arthur experienced a totally irrational shiver, as if all the disjointed edges of the imperfect universe had just aligned. He pressed the pocketed black velvet box against his ribs with his elbow, and met Gwen's teary-eyed radiance past the marrying couple, as Freya spoke her vows.

"To have and to hold, to trust and to follow and to guide… and not even death may part thee and me, nor anything divide our love."

"Everyone so witnessing these vows, add voice to strengthen the bond," Aglain spoke up, addressing the crowd.

The chorus that rose was deafening. _Aye_ , and _I do_ , and _I so witness_. Arthur himself couldn't speak, but he _felt_ his affirmation, and it was strong.

And Merlin reached to cup Freya's face with his free hand, leaning down to her as she tilted willingly up to him, and their lips met.

Gwaine had offered to time it. Leon and Percival – and Elyan, Arthur had heard – had taken bets. Merlin had threatened to stop time entirely, so The Kiss would be private.

He didn't, though. Maybe he'd forgotten. But Arthur was willing to bet that their friends' estimations were all off. Because evidently things were done differently at semi-druidic weddings – Merlin didn't stop kissing his bride for well-nigh a full minute. Not making out, nor anything blatantly intimate, nothing to make their audience uncomfortable, just… continuing. To growing applause, which neither of them seemed aware of.

Gwen's smile was both self-conscious and suggestive – which made Arthur both nervous and eager. He considered elbowing the oblivious groom, two seconds before Merlin pulled back, grinning at Freya's sweet discomfiture.

Aglain had to raise his hands for the gathered guests to quiet down again.

"The rings, if you please?" he said, glancing at Arthur and then Gwen, as the audience shuffled and chuckled themselves back to their seats.

In that moment, the greenery binding Merlin and Freya's hands unraveled and recoiled, leaves fluttering gently to the ground and stems dissolving into a dusty glitter that clung to their skin, leaving bride and groom each with a single flower. Arthur almost forgot to fish Freya's wedding band – braided gold with three tiny inset diamonds, rather than the customary solitaire – watching Freya fix hers to the lapel of Merlin's tux jacket, as he tucked his into the strands of her dark hair over one ear.

Hoping no one noticed his fumble… Merlin met his eyes with a knowing grin; hoping no one _else_ noticed his fumble, Arthur passed the bride's ring to his friend, and Freya turned from retrieving Merlin's band from Gwen's safekeeping.

"Love is like precious silver, and must be treated so. Like gold love is delicate, and must be treated accordingly. Never taken for granted, but freely and generously given both care and attention – resulting in a rewarding and unmistakable luster, like precious gems. And love, so handled… can last forever." As Aglain spoke, the bridal pair slipped each other's ring on, naturally and surely.

Merlin lifted Freya's hand to kiss it with the ring. A year ago, Arthur would not have believed his friend had that in him, to be so confidently romantic.

"Lone Oak and beyond…" Aglain spread his hands, and the guests rustled to their feet. Merlin and Freya turned to face the crowd, still holding theirs and looking at each other. "Ordinary and Grammarye, past-present-future… I give you, Merlin and Freya. Husband and wife."

Again, deafening applause.

Merlin leaned to whisper in Freya's ear, something that made her laugh and nod.

Then Gaius turned in his seat in the front row, lifting his hand to signal for silence. "If everyone will please hold still for – hm, say five minutes? We'll get set up to feast with and drink to and congratulate our newlyweds."

"Gotta work, even on my wedding day," Merlin murmured over his shoulder to Arthur.

And he _performed_.

Moving magic was, in Arthur's opinion, the most exquisite, the most difficult, the most awe-inspiring. The rows of chairs shifted and turned and slid. Sections of the floor lifted and sprouted legs that curved and twisted graceful and artistic, becoming tables where the thick short forest-floor carpeting smoothed into flowing cover-cloth. Around which the chairs gathered, gently enough for the guests to follow and reclaim their seats.

"Holy sh-" Arthur was interrupted by Merlin pulling him back as the high table grew from underfoot. Chairs for the four of them plus Gaius and Alice, Hunith and Aglain, ambled agreeably up.

"That went well," Merlin said, pleased. Freya at his side was fixing his cuff and sleeve.

There was no mic, and no master-of-ceremonies. Arthur hadn't been asked to write a toast, and no one in the audience acted like they were at a loss without the structure of protocol. No receiving line, but Merlin and Freya were the center of ever-changing attention as Elyan's carts and employees - because of course food couldn't be magicked from thin air – tabled and uncovered platters of hors d'oeuvres, clever but cold, simple but generous. Some of the current students helped themselves immediately; Arthur noticed more than one actually sitting on a table.

Hands in his pockets, he watched and marveled yet again at the strange and endearing quirks of magic folk. Gwen, her hand comfortably gripping his elbow, kept one eye on the catering crew, and one on the well-wishers, commenting in a steady stream of mild explanations.

"Oh, I remember her, she turned people's hair blue for a about a month a few years ago – I used to hide in the kitchen when she… Oh, look, there's…" And she'd name someone else she recognized, though of course Arthur didn't.

"This is better than our school reunion," Leon said at Arthur's other side, momentarily slipping his hand into Arthur's pocket – to return an object Arthur immediately recognized, and acknowledged with a nod. "Remember? They hired that one band and everyone hated them…" He took a long swallow of red-orange liquid from the tiny delicate punch cup in his hand – and the cup was still brimful when he lowered it.

"That's Merlin's mom?" Percival said, from just beyond him, having returned at the same time from the same errand – bag-carrier. He shoved the last bite of something that looked like pastry and bacon into his mouth. "She's sweet."

"You have no idea," Gwen told them both, seriously. And she'd know; she and Freya and Alice had spent nearly the entire previous day with Hunith, while the menfolk made themselves scarce.

"Gwaine's busy," Leon commented.

Arthur fruitlessly searched the gym – or was it actually a cathedral today? He didn't know if it was an illusion, or… some other piece of astounding casual magic.

 _Expect the unexpected_ , was indeed what Arthur had gotten used to.

"Yeah, but he loves it," Percival said, of Gwaine's new job working under Merlin as Lone Oak's security staff. "He says it's way more interesting than a hotel."

"It is," Arthur said honestly, giving Leon half a grin.

His friend shrugged, himself perfectly content. "I'll keep the hotel."

Still Arthur's, though in name only. Leon loved the management, the control and direction, but had no desire to stress over finances or the notoriety of ownership. And tucked away in the Virginian countryside, Arthur could rely on Leon's judgement, and phone in the rest.

"How's he going to manage with Merlin away on his honeymoon?" Percival asked, more seriously.

"He's got the alarm-charms," Arthur answered. "And Gaius. And Merlin's cell number."

"Until Freya gets a hold of the phone," Gwen murmured slyly.

"It's two weeks of winter break," Arthur continued, trying to ignore the insinuations that seemed to delight Gwen. He couldn't think that about his _roommate_ , for magic's sake. "Most of the kids will be at home. And most of the rest, don't want to disappoint Merlin, getting in trouble while he's gone."

"When he gets back, though?" Leon remarked – and Arthur shared another grin with him. Yep, the spring semester was going to be… interesting.

The reception for his friends' wedding was more than satisfactory. _Enough is as good as a feast_ , Arthur thought; he couldn't remember another comparable get-together when he'd enjoyed himself so well.

As the food-and-tables option was gradually abandoned, the tables themselves sank back into the floor, leaving space for – dancing. Which meant, music. No sound system, no musicians, or instruments –

"How are they doing this?" he asked Gwen.

"Enmyria," Gwen said. She dodged a bit to point out a young woman with rather wild kinky-curly brown hair, leggings and a tunic-dress, seated and alone, with closed eyes and a huge grin on her face. "She can do three – no, she's doing four, now. Look. Different kinds of music. From harder club rock –"

Arthur glimpsed Mordred and Kara – both in black, her hair shorter but spiky-blue, his hair longer – swaying rhythmically with her butt to his groin. He rolled his eyes; at least it wasn't deliberately offensive. And he supposed Merlin at least was glad the two recent graduates had returned to prove they were still alive, and not behind prison bars.

"…To this kind of stuff." Gwen gave him an arch smile, pulling him to the near center of the floor, just off a subtle spotlight from nowhere that followed Merlin and Freya. And into Bryan Adams' "Everything I Do."

 _There is no love, like your love… And no other, could give me more love… There's nowhere, unless you're there… All the time, all the way…_

Arthur resisted the urge to roll his eyes again – and instead allowed the grin, as Gwen wrapped her arms around him, under his jacket. He slid his arms around her also, one thumb against the bare skin of her back above the dress fabric, and over her head he watched the bridal pair.

Merlin's jacket and cummerbund had been abandoned somewhere, sleeves rolled to show empty wrists – that no longer looked wrong or vulnerable. Maybe it was because the rest of him exuded such contentment. Eyes closed and smile on his face, Merlin rested his cheek against Freya's hair. One hand cupping her cheek to cradle her head to his chest, the other spread over the bare skin of her back in a sweetly-presumptuous possessiveness.

She held his hand against her face - her own eyes closed and smile blissful - and her other hand clung low against the back of his waist, her last two fingers actually tucked behind his belt. As Arthur watched, she tipped her head back – dislodging his to meet his eyes.

Arthur recognized the signs of telepathy – and he was no longer curious to know what they said to each other in public, but without any chance of being overheard. Merlin lifted his chin in a peal of laughter – and Freya's hand covered his over his ribs. He was still grinning when he caught Arthur's eye for a moment of pure shared happiness – then grimaced significantly down toward Arthur's partner.

Because, roommates. He knew what was in Arthur's pocket.

Christmas present. Not – gasp! sterling silver and CZ. But _carats_ – white gold and princess-cut central diamond - and a proposal he was pretty sure Gwen would accept. However, he hadn't one-hundred-percent decided when. Like marriage itself, he rather expected – wanted – proposal to be a one-time thing. And he wanted it to be perfect for Gwen.

Not just, cuddling on the couch in the teachers' lounge, asking during a commercial – _So when, exactly, should we get married? This summer?_

 _Well… not if we want to go to Florida for the honeymoon._

 _Then… winter break?_

 _Yeah…_

And Arthur, on the other side of the couch, biting his tongue so that he wouldn't spoil the moment, with its laughable lack of romance, for Freya. Who seemed content, after all. She knew what she was getting. And evidently Merlin had learned a bit about courtship, since then.

"Are you all right?" Gwen murmured from just below his chin.

"Mm. Why?"

"I lost you for a minute." She shifted against him and he held his steps, just swaying in place against her warmth and the intoxicating slip of the silk of her dress against his body.

"Just thinking," he said vaguely.

She tipped her chin up to look into his eyes without leaning back from their contact. "About what?"

"I'll tell you later," Arthur said. "When we're alone." When he could get on one knee without anyone else seeing him, and flounder his way verbally through the deep things he felt before she understood with the life preserver of an interrupting kiss and the all-important _Yes_.

"Trade me," Merlin said in his ear, and Arthur turned to see the limpid elation up close in his friend's eyes. "My wife wants to dance with you. Heaven knows why."

Gwen left him immediately, turning to hug Freya and whisper in her ear – and receive her inaudible response the same way.

"If I don't get a chance, before we leave…" Merlin offered Arthur his hand. "Hold down the fort while we're gone?"

"Absolutely," Arthur said, shaking his hand.

"Gwaine tries. And he's learned a lot about magic this semester. But you…" Merlin's eyes and his grip said, _I trust you_.

"What can happen in two weeks," Arthur said flippantly, and laughed at Merlin's half-serious flinch of anxiety. "We'll be fine. Go and have fun. Enjoy the Sunshine State."

"Freya in a bikini," Gwen said, holding up her arms for Merlin to dance with her. He took hold of her, hand and back, without comment, but his skin was fired with a blush that made Arthur chuckle.

The bride was conversely, contentedly serene. "We don't have to dance," she told Arthur.

"We do," he contradicted, claiming her hand and waist.

And for several moments of music - _You must remember this/ A kiss is still a kiss… A sigh is just a sigh/ The fundamental things apply as time goes by –_ it felt to him exactly as if he danced with his sister at her wedding. He wouldn't be able to put it into words, but he hoped Freya found him an adequate substitute for the brothers she'd lost, also.

"When I met Merlin," she said, all bright eyes and dark curls and filmy bridal white, "on the Hill, that first night. I recognized that his magic had called me. I caught the first glimpse of the fact that he was to be my home. I chose him. In spite of the darkness I sensed in him – pain, and loss, and guilt…"

Arthur turned her so they could avoid another couple, and glimpsed Merlin laughing at something Gwen had said – glimpsed her smile as he turned her.

"Or maybe because of it," Freya added. "I was determined to reach that place in his heart, and be his light, as he has been the light for so many others. And he doesn't really realize."

The proof of that was all around him. Arthur did not think so many people would come to his wedding except out of duty or curiosity or greed. Certainly not genuine regard or personal caring. He said lightly, "I congratulate you on your success, then."

She gave him a faintly reproachful look. "I could not have done it without you," she said. "I had contented myself with lifelong friendship, and you – broke into that darkness that would have been impossible for anyone else to touch."

"Clumsily," Arthur said, gallantly to cover the faint shame he still felt, to remember his behavior, "and painfully."

"Well," Freya said composedly. "You are only men, after all."

 _As time goes by_ was slowing, and quieting, and Arthur realized what everyone else was realizing, also. It was _Time_.

"Don't let him get sunburned," he told Freya.

She gave him a cat's smile. "I'll do my best to keep him in out of the sun."

He gave a theatrical shudder, that made her giggle, and added honestly, "I hope you have a marvelous time."

Merlin reappeared with Gwen, and the two girls clung together again. Gwen said, sweetly mournful, "I'll miss you."

Arthur fished in his pocket and pulled out the object Leon had returned to him. Minus the room key and the American flag – he handed the Chrysler's key to his uncomprehending roommate. Former roommate. Friend.

"I told Gwaine to cancel the taxi – Percival volunteered to drive you. And he'll be waiting to pick you up when you get back." Merlin opened his mouth to protest, and Arthur added, "Just promise not to traumatize him along the way."

The girls snickered, but without warning, Merlin flung his arms around Arthur, clutching him with more strength than was usually apparent in his slender frame. "You are a _prince_ among friends, Arthur."

"All right, get off," Arthur grumped. Winking hard, and trying not to show it.

Mordred held out Merlin's tux coat. Sophia Tiermore had Freya's purse and a white fluffy wrap for her bare shoulders. Hunith and Alice were arm in arm, both dabbing furiously with tissues, and Gaius gave Merlin a hug and a muttered, "Oh, my boy…"

They left out a side door of the gym, followed by most of the crowd – Gwaine and Elyan lying in wait with cans of silly string, and one of the students added a touch of magic by illuminating the arcing strands of spray.

Merlin let it happen, spontaneous and gorgeous magic, taking Freya's hand to sprint for the Chrysler where Percival stood attendant beside the back-seat door; Freya held her veil in place with her free hand and slid in first. They both grinned and waved through the window – and the car pulled away to the noisy farewell of the gathered guests.

Lingering in the open doorway between warm and well-lit cathedral and dark chill-brilliant night, Arthur considered how everything and nothing had changed. How friends were friends and stayed friends, even if they left on honeymoon, or returned to jobs and lives in other cities. How maybe that was a concept that applied to death as well – and his mother and father and sister were only at another feast, another gathering. That he hadn't really lost anything in the last two years… but that he had, gained so much.

Gwen sighed. The gym itself seemed to sigh, as the magic began to fade.

"It's genius, really," Arthur said to her. "Very little clean-up."

"And you and I," Gwen said. She smiled at him, tucking her hand into his elbow, where it felt to him like it belonged. "What are we going to do?"

The air outside was cool and crisp; he'd have to give her his tux jacket in a moment. And the lamp from the Hill shone undimmed.

"How about a walk?" Arthur suggested, not yet ready to part. Not yet ready to end the night. There was that box in his pocket. "I'm sure I can think of something."

* * *

 **A/N:** _ **Long**_ **. But hopefully not boring. And no one died of sugar shock?... Thanks ever so to everyone who supported and encouraged with reviews, favorites, and follows!**

 **Next, I'm probably going to do a sequel to Refined by Fire and Released by Truth. Probably entitled Renewed by Love… and yes, there will be romance. But also action and politics and whump, so... (Going on vacation starting Memorial Day, so I'm not sure if I'll post or even have a chapter 1 by then, just sayin'…)**


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